Adjusting
by sugah66
Summary: Kamea adjusts to life aboard Enterprise, while the crew adjusts to her presence. Second in a series, follows the events of The One and Only. Rated for language. AU. COMPLETE. UPDATED 6.12.05.
1. Hiding Out

**TITLE: The Kamea Chronicles, Part 2: Adjusting  
AUTHOR: Sugah Sugah  
SUMMARY: Kamea adjusts to life aboard _Enterprise_, while the crew adjusts to her presence. In short, there's a lot of adjusting going on. Hence the title.  
SPOILERS: Through "Home" (season 4, episode 3)  
RATING: T -- mostly language.  
****AUTHOR'S NOTE: And now begins book two of the Kamea Chronicles, which follows the events of "The One and Only", so you might want to read that one first, just to get the idea of what's going on.  
****I was going to take a day off from posting, but then I saw that "Enterprise" had been cancelled, and I had to put this up. TPTB are now high up on my list, right at the freaking top, and I'd just like to say that my "Enterprise" will continue indefinitely. BWA HA HA! Just try and get rid of me.  
****That said, here we go with book two.  
****EDIT: All books of the chronicles have been "updated" to include stardate, so you can follow the timeline of the series.**

**Disclaimer is in chapter 11, because I originally forgot it and didn't feel like changing it. But I can put it here, too.  
****DISCLAIMER: I don't own "Enterprise". If I did, it never would've gotten cancelled and there would be a lot more scenes of Malcolm in decon.**

* * *

**The Kamea Chronicles**

**Part Two: Adjusting**

_Captain's Log:_

_Stardate: May 12, 2154_

_No one quite knows what to make of our guest. She's quite an enigma. T'Pol particularly is having trouble adjusting to her presence on board, but for the most part everyone seems to be avoiding her. According to Doctor Phlox, it is completely plausible that she is who she says she is, but I'd rather be safe than sorry, so I am attempting to access her medical records from Earth. I don't expect she'll be here very long -- just long enough to get her ship back in working order -- but until then, I've decided to extend her every courtesy. She is a guest, after all._

_

* * *

_Three days had passed since Captain Archer had extended an invitation to Kamea to remain on Enterprise -if "invitation" could even be considered an appropriate term -and she had spent the majority of those three days holed up in her quarters. It wasn't her first choice; she wanted to explore the ship, see the engines, and go to the launch bay to start repairing her shuttle pod. After spending almost a month in the confines of her small ship, the last thing she wanted was to be cooped up again. But whenever she stepped out of her room, she was greeted with stares from most of the crew. 

She recalled the captain's announcement, which he'd made that same night he came to her quarters.

"Kamea is a guest aboard _Enterprise_, and I expect her to be treated with the same respect and courtesy you would show to any visitor to our ship. We must do everything we can to make her feel welcome."

_Well, it certainly is eerily reminiscent of home_, she thought grimly, though that was hardly comforting. People skirted around her in the corridors, and when they thought she was out of earshot, they would whisper about her to their companions, obviously forgetting that her ears were more sensitive than theirs. She remained in her quarters as much as possible, leaving only for meals, which she ate alone. And she had not yet discovered how to work the beverage dispenser, and no one attempted to show her, so she ate quickly and returned to her room for a glass of water.

The whole situation was enough to make anyone crazy, but it should not have bothered Kamea. She should have been used to it. Most of her freshman year at MIT had passed the same way, until the other students got to know her and realized that she was actually a pretty decent person underneath the stoic Vulcan façade. She'd been denied entrance into the Starfleet Academy twenty-four years straight because the board couldn't see past her Vulcan exterior. She'd had to pretend to be human just to get a halfway decent job. However, it had been years since she'd had to deal with outright uneasiness.

It did bother her, though. Just because she was used to it didn't mean it didn't affect her. Why were people so apprehensive around her? She at first thought it was because she was half-Vulcan, but Commander T'Pol was a full Vulcan and a member of the crew, so she knew that that couldn't be the reason. However, the newer members of the crew - the ones who weren't use to working with Vulcans on a daily basis - were probably at the core of the whole problem. From the little snippets of conversation she'd managed to overhear in the corridors, xenophobia on Earth had reached an all-time high after the Xindi conflict. Most humans weren't very trusting toward alien species, and the Vulcans hadn't done much to help matters.

Kamea gritted her teeth at the thought. Of all the species her parents could have been, and they had to be species that despised each other. She had never been completely accepted by either one. High school had been tolerable because no one knew of her Vulcan heritage, and by the time they found out, they knew her too well to resent her for being Vulcan; they did, however, become angry at her deception, but she supposed that was to be expected.

She had, of course, considered that perhaps the crew was wary of her abilities. She suspected that the captain had not made that bit of information common knowledge, but she knew all too well how fast gossip traveled, especially in places as confined as a starship. Besides, a number of people had been present when the captain questioned her. Any one of them could have passed the information along.

She spent her first two days on _Enterprise_ re-reading her way through her collection of books, but after she'd read _Fahrenheit 451 _twice, she decided it was time to stop hiding and start assimilating. Who knew how long she'd be aboard _Enterprise_? Did she really want to remain shut up in her quarters for the duration of her stay?

The answer was a definitive "no". Why did she care what these people thought about her? The idea of scrutiny had never bothered her before; she had never been ashamed of her heritage. She closed the book with a snap, tossed it aside, and left the room.


	2. Building Bridges and Warp Drives

Trip Tucker felt guilty for the way he'd been avoiding Kamea. The truth was, she scared him. Her explanation about her operation and her demonstration of her abilities had inspired the fear of God in him, and so he'd developed excuses to avoid her. He tried not to be obvious about it. He was polite if he passed her in the corridor or bumped into her in the mess hall, but he didn't seek her out, even though he was dying to talk engineering with her. He thought that _Enterprise_ could do with some of the upgrades she'd given her own ship, but as much as he wanted her opinion, he was afraid to talk to her.

It had seemed like a good idea at first, until he realized that everyone else had the same intention. He rarely ever saw Kamea outside of her quarters unless she was going to meals, which she ate alone, tucked in a back corner of the mess hall. He suspected that she was avoiding the crew as much as they were avoiding her. He figured that she would be used to such behavior, but that still didn't make it right. And then he remembered the way he had treated T'Pol, years ago, when they were just getting to know each other. He could barely stand to be in the same room with her, and she'd somehow become his closest friend. Kamea deserved that same opportunity.

After three days, he decided it was time to extend the hand of friendship. While he was on duty on the bridge, he did a scan of the ship, expecting to find Kamea in her quarters. But the scan revealed that she was in the launch bay. When his shift was over, he headed down, using the trip in the turbo lift to plan out what he was going to say.

When he walked into the bay, he was momentarily taken aback by the sight that greeted his eyes. Kamea sat Indian-style on the floor, the pieces of her ship scattered around her. She was fitting the pieces together, obviously beginning to rebuild. She hummed softly to herself as she worked, shaking her head back and forth to the tune.

After a few moments, she began to sing. "The injector's connected to the fuel cell. The fuel cell's connected to the warp coil. The warp coil's connected to the engine. The engine's connected to the… Damn. I always mess up that part."

He raised an eyebrow. He'd never heard a Vulcan sing before. Or swear. She wasn't dressed like a Vulcan either. T'Pol wore those skintight catsuits that hugged every curve and drove him wild; they left little to the imagination, and he sometimes found it hard to concentrate because he'd be staring at her. Kamea, however, was wearing a pair of jeans that was covered in assorted stains and a tank top that looked as though she had once used it to clean off engine parts. Her hair was pulled back with a ribbon and clearly showed her Vulcan ears.

"I assume this is your handiwork, Commander?" she asked without turning around.

He started, slightly ashamed that she'd known he was there. "How'd you know it was me?"

She shrugged, her back still to him. She brought the part she was working on up to her eye level, then tightened something on it. "Every person has a very distinct scent. You smell like oil, sugar, and testosterone." She turned to face him, one eyebrow lifted. "A very interesting combination."

"Cap'n wanted us to take apart your ship," he said, walking over to her. He carefully stepped among the discarded parts. "He wanted to see if we could figure out your modifications."

She pushed a PADD toward him with her bare foot. "And I suppose asking for the specs was too much effort?"

He picked up the PADD and scrolled through the information. It was fairly detailed. He considered himself a good engineer, but there was stuff in her log that he had never even imagined. He whistled as he read a particularly interesting passage. "Wow, you figured out a way to milk more out of the warp field?"

She nodded, still fiddling with the part, which he realized was a plasma injector. He was momentarily surprised that she'd understood what he said and had to remind himself that she had grown up on Earth.

"Yes," she said. "If you cycle the firing of the nacelles rather than firing them all at once, you can coast on the momentum created and maintain warp for longer periods of time. You also save the nacelles undue wear and tear. They'll last longer, and ultimately increase your speed as a result."

He whistled again, impressed. He definitely had to give her a tour of the engine room later. She probably had some good ideas. "How'd you ever figure that out?"

She looked up at him. "I didn't. I stole it from the Vulcans." She returned to the injector, tightening another screw. "I didn't always travel in this," she said, gesturing at the scattered engine parts. "My first ship was my father's shuttle pod."

He furrowed his brow. "What happened to it?"

She grabbed the soldering iron, then put it back down. "Too conspicuous. It was almost a century old, after all. There have been quite a number of technological advancements since he left Vulcan."

He set the PADD down and watched her work. He marveled at how effectively she could multi-task the repairs she was doing and maintain a conversation with him. "So how long have you been usin' this ship?"

"About two years," she said. "It took me three to even get it space-worthy. When I found it, it was in a sorry state. I was lucky it still worked at all. I never would have gotten off Altara if the engine hadn't fired. The Altarans aren't exactly what I'd call technologically advanced."

They sat in silence for a while. Trip watched her as she grabbed one of the warp coils and fitted the injector effortlessly into it. Then she reached for the soldering iron, fastening the injector securely in place. She really seemed to know what she was doing, but he'd already gathered that she was a gifted engineer. He cleared his throat. "You want some help puttin' your ship back together?"

She looked at him. He thought he could detect a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "That would be acceptable," she said. "Since it is because of you that it is in pieces to begin with."

He grinned. He liked her; he'd never known a Vulcan with such an outright sense of humor. Ambassador V'Lar was more playful than most Vulcans, and T'Pol began telling jokes – or the Vulcan equivalent of jokes – once she became more comfortable on _Enterprise_. But Kamea had demonstrated her sense of humor right from the start with that crack about the Spanish Inquisition. Of course, she wasn't entirely Vulcan, which probably explained it.

Trip picked up the nearest part – a nacelle – and pulled the toolbox closer. After several minutes, he glanced at her and said, "Y'know, if you wanted to, you could help me in engineerin' for a while. It'll be good to have an extra pair of hands down there, especially hands as capable as yours."

He caught the trace hint of a smile, but it was quickly gone. He prided himself on his ability to read the seemingly stoic Vulcan face. "I'd be honored, Commander. I've been anxious to examine the engines since I learned where I was. _Enterprise_ was still under construction when I left Earth; I never thought I'd ever be aboard her."

"Trip," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You're not Starfleet," he said. "You don't hafta call me 'Commander' all the time."

She shook her head slowly. "I was merely using the term as a sign of respect."

He swelled with pride at that. He never thought he'd live to see the day that a Vulcan acknowledged having respect for a human – well, except T'Pol. But Trip was fast learning that T'Pol proved the exception to every rule. "Respect noted," he said. "But you can call me Trip. Everyone does."

The second eyebrow joined the first. "Why?"

He shrugged, not wanting to relate the story of his nickname. "It's just a nickname. You got a nickname?"

She narrowed her eyes in thought. "My mother used to call me _haole_."

He scrunched up his forehead, wondering if the term was Hawaiian or Vulcan. He'd been meaning to learn Vulcan, actually. T'Pol had taught him a few phrases on their trip to Vulcan, but not much, and he mixed the words up anyway. "What's it mean?"

"Centuries ago, it meant 'foreigner'," she said, engrossed with the warp coil. "But it is now used to refer to blondes." She ran her fingers through her hair to punctuate her statement.

He stopped tightening a screw on the nacelle and looked at her in shock. He had expected more of a term of endearment from her mother, at least; after all, she had been human. His shock dissolved into a disarming smile. "Not much of a nickname."

She stared at him, one eyebrow cocked. "Neither is Trip. Hand me the flux couplet."

* * *

**A/N:**Again, not an engineer, so I'm sure none of my engineering stuff will even make sense.

Stole the idea for cycling the nacelles from a story by Zane Grey I found on Trip/T'Polers, because there is no way I would have been able to pull something like that out of my butt.


	3. Battle with the Beverage Dispenser

Kamea had been staring at the beverage dispenser for five full minutes, but still had no idea how to work it. She needed caffeine; water just wasn't cutting it any more. _I don't believe this,_ she thought as she fingered the mug she was holding. _I just rebuilt a warp engine in less than an hour and I can't get a damn mug of tea_. Okay, so she'd had help with her engine, but the idea was still the same. She wished she'd thought to ask Commander Tucker – Trip – how to use it, but she'd been afraid he would tease her. They'd spent nearly an hour working on her engine and had completely reconstructed it. They then spent the next hour just talking, and Kamea realized how much she'd missed the company of humans.

She had just about given up on her tea, resigning to return to her quarters for yet another glass of water, when she smelled pineapples. Her mouth watered involuntarily, and she turned to find Lieutenant Reed walking over to her.

"Having some trouble, are we?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She did her best not to look angry, but it was difficult. She'd allowed herself to become frustrated by a machine. That hadn't happened since college, when she'd accidentally electrocuted herself attempting to soup up her space heater. "What gave you that impression?"

As he reached past her to grab a mug from the shelf, his hand brushed against hers, and she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her body. Her heartbeat accelerated, and her breathing became shallow. When she regained control, she chanced a glance at Lieutenant Reed and noticed that he appeared to have had the same reaction. But he didn't acknowledge it and neither did she. Instead, he placed his mug under the dispenser.

"Coffee," he said to the machine. "Two sugars."

A red light confirmed his order, and a stream of coffee poured into the mug, which he then removed. He sipped the coffee and smiled at her over the rim of the mug.

She raised an eyebrow and followed his lead, sticking her mug under the dispenser. "Tea," she said. "Earl Grey." When the mug was full, she took her tea and sipped it happily, looking at the lieutenant with a newfound sense of respect. In three days, no one else had cared to teach her how to use the machine. "Thank you. I was getting tired of water."

"My pleasure," he said with a nod.

She meandered through the mess hall and took a seat at her usual table, hidden back in the corner. She was surprised when Lieutenant Reed followed her and sat down across from her. "You don't have to join me, Lieutenant," she said. "I'm quite accustomed to being alone."

He shrugged. "Doesn't mean you should have to be." He paused, taking another drink of coffee. "And you may call me Malcolm."

She gave him a small smile. "Very well."

They drank their respective beverages in silence. Malcolm – she let her mind savor the name – seemed to be engrossed with his coffee, as his eyes never left it. Kamea, however, allowed her gaze to roam about the mess hall, observing the other crewmembers. She liked to watch people; it helped her hone her reading skills, which was the only thing she could do in accordance with her promise to the captain. She'd gotten very good at reading others, but since she hadn't been among humans with her abilities, she'd never had the opportunity to practice on them. She took that opportunity now.

"How are you doing?" he asked. She looked at him, but he was still fixated on his coffee. His next words were spoken to the table. "How are your first days going?"

She studied him. There was no mocking in his tone, but a genuine interest. He seemed to actually care. It was mirrored in his eyes. She remembered those eyes, locked on her own, when she had come to, briefly, during her hunger-induced slumber. She felt as though she had seen directly into his soul.

"I am," she paused, contemplating her word choice, "adjusting."

He met her gaze. "Adjusting?"

She nodded and took another sip of her tea. "It will take some time for the crew to adapt to my presence."

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked, a sharp edge in his voice that had not been there a second ago. "Are you being mistreated?"

She looked at him, unsure of how to respond to that question."Mistreated" was perhaps a bit of anoverstatement, though she really wasn't being treated all that well.But it would be unwise to make accusations about the crew, especially to a senior officer. She would have to proceed with caution if she did not want to anger the lieutenant. Though she sensed, from the ire in his voice, that he would not have been angry with her. "There have been no outright hostilities. However, I feel that most of the crew are…uncomfortable around me."

He lowered his eyes, staring at the table once again. "I'm sorry."

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. "It is of no consequence. I am used to it." Why had she lied? She drained the rest of her tea and stood. Malcolm scrambled to his feet. "If you'll excuse me," she said, smiling inwardly at his gesture, "I'd like to return to my ship. I'm making progress."

Malcolm nodded. "Of course."

She turned away.

"Kamea?"

The way he said her name made it sound like the most beautiful word in the world. She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"If you need anything – anything at all – please don't hesitate to ask."

She felt the corners of her lips tug upwards and stifled the smile before it could come to fruition. "Thank you. I'll do that."


	4. Insight

Phlox was in for another late night. He was dissecting some flora samples that the away team had brought back from _Enterprise's_ most recent planetary visit. They were fascinating samples, and Phlox relished the opportunity to study new species. He tended to do his experiments at night, when most of the crew was asleep, because there was little chance of being interrupted.

Besides, he needed a break from the subject that most intrigued him – Kamea. He'd analyzed every test result half a dozen times, but she simply defied logic. He hoped he would get the chance to conduct a more thorough investigation or her medical history. Others would greatly benefit from in-depth research. She seemed to be avoiding him, but from what he saw, she seemed to be avoiding everyone. After three days on board the ship, she barely came out of her quarters.

He was only slightly surprised when Kamea wandered into sickbay later that night. He had been expecting her for a while, ever since Commander Tucker had informed him that she'd finally left her quarters, though he had thought she would have come earlier in the day. She was carrying a PADD and dressed for bed in a T-shirt and loose-fitting cotton pants, but she didn't look like she had been sleeping. Vulcans needed considerably less sleep than humans, and as Kamea had been in hibernation for the better part of a month, she would probably be unable to sleep for quite some time.

"Good evening, Kamea," Phlox said, though "evening" was a bit of a stretch. The corridors of _Enterprise_ darkened to simulate night, but it wasn't the same. "What brings you down here?"

Kamea walked over to the table at which he was working at stared down at the samples. "Chinkara plants," she said absentmindedly. "Very rare. Excellent restorative capabilities."

"You're familiar with the chinkara plant?" Phlox didn't know why he was surprised. With her advanced mental processes, she probably knew more than everyone on the ship combined. "I'm impressed."

She looked at him. "The Dominions were studying them."

"Perhaps you'd want to help me with my tests, hmm?"

She gave him a tiny smile. "Some other time, maybe. I came to bring you this." She handed him the PADD. "It contains all the information on my father's experiments. I thought perhaps, being a physician, you would find them interesting. You'll probably be able to make better sense of them than me. I'm an engineer, not a scientist."

Phlox excitedly took the PADD from her. He had been anticipating going over her father's experiments ever since she had mentioned them, during her interrogation by the captain. It wasn't often that one stumbled across such discoveries. He scrolled through the data contained on the PADD – equations, schematics, results from failed experiments, the proper chemicals needed… It was a veritable gold mine, to use a human term, of information.

"Thank you," he said, barely able to contain the excitement in his voice. "I'm sure I will find these fascinating."

He thought that she would be leaving after giving him the PADD, but she stayed where she was, staring at the chinkara plants with a distant look in her eyes. "Was there something else?" he asked.

She looked up, startled out of her reverie. "Did you know my father?"

It was an odd question. Surely she should have realized that he hadn't known her father. "No, I didn't. Why do you ask?"

Kamea shrugged and wandered over to the monitor, where her genetic information was still displayed. Phlox had been puzzling over it for days, finally abandoning it to examine the chinkara. "I was in and out of consciousness for quite some time," she said, crossing her arms and staring at the screen, "and I heard Captain Archer say something about a Lorian." She put a hand to her forehead, as if remembering something from a dream. "He said something like Lorian told you that you'd be the one to discover a way for Vulcans and humans to reproduce."

Phlox raised his eyebrows. "Your Vulcan senses are excellent, even unconscious." That was something he could check off his mental list. "He did say that."

She turned to face him, her brow furrowed. "But why?"

Phlox told her the story. After the Xindi probe attacked Earth, _Enterprise_ tracked them deep into the Expanse, hoping to stop the launch of their master weapon, which would ultimately destroy Earth. Archer managed to convince a few Xindi to join them, and they were to meet their contacts on the other side of a subspace corridor. Before they could enter the corridor, they were approached by another NX-class ship – _Enterprise_, only from the past. It seemed that, had _Enterprise_ gone through the corridor, it would have been thrown back in time. The captain of the second _Enterprise_ was named Lorian, and he ended up being the son of T'Pol and Commander Tucker.

When he finished, she nodded in understanding, and he was shocked that she had actually followed his explanation. "A temporal fold," she said. "I heard the Dominions mention them. They don't happen often. Bad luck, mostly. Right place, wrong time, so to speak." She sighed. "And I guess that answers my question."

"But you mentioned your father."

"My father's name was Lorian." She bit her bottom lip and turned back to the monitor. "I can't imagine that T'Pol naming her son Lorian is a coincidence, but she was not yet born when my father left Vulcan. And unless I am mistaken, T'Les never speaks of him."

They were quiet for a while. Phlox could not speak for Kamea, but he was digesting the new information. So T'Pol and Commander Tucker's son had been named after T'Pol's uncle whom she didn't even know. Interesting. Of course, he knew that nothing had happened between the two of them except for one time he suspected. He did not let on that he knew, but he had figured out that T'Pol had developed feelings for the commander and was trying to deny them. Finding out that they had a son together had shocked her, and now she was being presented with further proof that a Vulcan/human pairing could be successful.

"So Trip and T'Pol had a son?" Kamea said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I suspected there was something between the two of them, but I did not want to pry."

Phlox smiled. "You're observant." Especially since things between the two commanders had cooled down considerably since _Enterprise's_ re-launch. They didn't seem to spend as much time together as before.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought it was obvious. However, no one else seems to have noticed, so I thought it best not to say anything." She glanced out the view port. "T'Pol does not seem to like me. I can't say that I blame her."

The silence fell again, but did not last long. Phlox was curious about her parents – her father in particular. "You said your father devoted his life to improving relations between Vulcans and humans?"

Kamea nodded, not looking at him. She was still staring out the view port. "Yes. He even found a way to increase a human's lifespan, so that a Vulcan/human marriage would not end abruptly."

Phlox was instantly intrigued. "He did?"

She gestured at the PADD with her head. "It's all in there. Just a simple matter of administering the right proteins on a daily basis, or so he told me. I never did quite understand it. But he was determined to prove to the High Command that a Vulcan/human marriage could work. I, of course, was the most important piece of evidence." She looked at him with a smile, which he immediately identified as forced. "A half-human, half-Vulcan child wandering around the universe is enough to make anyone question what is known."

Phlox returned his attention to the PADD, searching for the proteins about which Kamea was referring. Increasing a human's lifespan was a major medical achievement. "If I may ask, how old was your mother when she died?"

Kamea turned back to the view port. She did not answer for a moment or two, staring at the stars. When she did respond, her voice was so quiet that Phlox could barely hear her. "She was ninety-one. Didn't look a day over thirty-five. My father was at least one hundred-thirty. I never asked him his exact age. It didn't seem important." She sighed heavily and turned back to him. "It's late. I'll leave you to your chinkara plants. I have to meet Trip in the morning; he wants me to get a feel for the engines."

She started for the door, then suddenly stopped and turned. "Do not expose the chinkara to any kind of radiation." She made a face. "It would not be pleasant."

Phlox called her name just as she reached the door. She stopped but did not turn.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I think it would be wise if we were to meet on a regular basis." She turned at this, one eyebrow cocked in what Phlox assumed to be confusion. He explained. "You see, the problem with you being the first half-human, half-Vulcan is that anything that happens to you is virtually unknown. I would like the opportunity to study you. I believe future people in your situation would benefit greatly."

Kamea shrugged again, this time in indifference. "Whatever you think is best, Doctor," she said. Then she passed through the doors and was gone.


	5. The Newest Engineer

Trip walked into engineering at 0800 the next morning ready for a day's work. There hadn't been any major problems since _Enterprise's_ refit after their return to Earth, but he was looking forward to getting Kamea's opinion on some things. He'd been hoping to make a few modifications to the ship, and with someone like her around, he had a feeling he wouldn't have any accidents – not like the one that had put him in a coma.

The first person he saw was Crewman Rostov, who was one of the unfortunate souls with the night shift this week. "Rostov! Any sign of Kamea?"

Rostov approached him, holding a PADD and looking exhausted. "Sir?"

"She's supposed to meet me here. She's gonna be helpin' out for a while. Really knows what she's doin'."

Rostov suddenly smiled and pointed. Trip followed his finger and found Kamea buried in one of the engines up to her stomach, so that only her legs were visible. "She's been here since 0400," Rostov said. "I think she's memorized every bolt."

Trip grinned. Yep, they definitely needed someone like Kamea down in engineering. That seemed to be what really got her going. Trip could identify with that. Stick him anywhere else and he was a fish out of water, but put him in front of a warp drive and he was all business. Trip clapped Rostov on the shoulder. "Thanks. Get some sleep."

"Shouldn't order your crew to do anything you don't, Commander," Rostov said with a smile. But he turned and left.

Trip stared after him. He had been sleeping much better ever since he'd come to terms with Lizzie's death. Of course, T'Pol's neuro-pressure sessions had also helped, but they hadn't had one in months – not since they'd slept together. She avoided him now, no doubt about it, but he couldn't get too bent out of shape about it, since he was avoiding her, too. He shook his head to clear the thoughts and wandered over to Kamea's legs, which were flailing about. She looked stuck. He stepped onto the ledge and peered down into the hole she had crammed herself into. "Need a hand?"

She raised her head. She was covered in grease. "Just looking around," she said. "I was trying to get my footing, and then I realized that I'm short." She buried her head back in the engine. Her next words were muffled. "So that didn't turn out as I'd hoped."

Trip laughed. The more time he spent with Kamea, the more he liked her.

"I got my mother's height, of course," she said. "Vulcans are tall by nature, but my mother was just a shade over five feet." She finally managed to find her footing and pulled herself out of the hole. She looked nothing like T'Pol. It was amazing that they were related.

"Something wrong?" she asked after he'd stared at her for a while.

Trip shook his head. "I was just thinkin' how you look nothin' like T'Pol."

She cocked her head to the side. "Not very surprising, though, is it?"

He smiled. He found himself wondering how much she acted like a human and how much she acted like a Vulcan. T'Pol, he'd noticed, acted more human the longer she stayed on _Enterprise_. Of course, she'd been every bit the good Vulcan when she'd married Koss in order to salvage her mother's career.

"I guess not," he said, his good mood rapidly dissipating. He gestured that they start walking, and she followed him through the engine room. "I was gonna start by showin' you the engines, but you seem to have taken that upon yourself, so I guess we should go through my old logs – familiarize you with _Enterprise's_ history and everythin'."

Kamea waved her hand. "I've already read them."

Trip stopped and stared at her in disbelief. "All of 'em?"

She nodded, staring back at him. She didn't even blink. There must've been some genetic code in Vulcan DNA that prevented blinking. T'Pol never seemed to blink either. "Yes."

"There's seven years worth of logs."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I read fast."

He eyed her suspiciously. She had to be joking. She'd only been there four hours, according to Rostov. There was no way she could have read through that many logs in that short period of time, no matter how fast of a reader she was. Trip did not consider himself a writer by any means, and the engineering logs were boring, even to him. "You didn't read them," he said.

She licked her lips. "'August 27, 2152: Upgraded the plasma converters; still no problems with the warp drive. Trying to get it past warp five but no progress yet – '"

Trip interrupted before she could get much further. "You memorized 'em?" To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. He was sure his eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline; they certainly couldn't go much higher. "You memorized seven years worth of logs in four hours?"

"No," she said. "It only took three. I've been checking out the engine for the last hour."

Trip nodded, impressed and slightly freaked out. "When'd you sleep?"

She smiled. "I don't sleep. Besides, I was in hibernation for a month. I'll be awake until I'm sixty." She paused, her tongue poking out between her lips, apparently lost in thought. "Which isn't that far off, now that I think about it."

So she was under sixty. She looked so much younger than T'Pol, but T'Pol was only sixty-six. She wasn't that old for a Vulcan either. He considered asking Kamea her age but knew that Vulcans considered age intimate information. He had thought that T'Pol admitting her age to him meant something, but then she'd up and married Koss.

Still, he couldn't resist. "So that would make you how old?"

Kamea shot him a death glare. She was certainly more expressive than T'Pol – probably her human half. Lorian had been like that, too.

"Sorry," he said, grinning. "I forgot that age is intimate for Vulcans."

"I'm half-Vulcan," she said, in a very clipped voice, "and it's not that. You should just never ask a lady her age. It's a huge faux pas no matter what culture you're from. Next you'll be asking me how much I weigh, and then I'd be forced to hurt you."

Trip chuckled softly. He definitely liked Kamea. She knew her way around a warp drive – if their impromptu build session yesterday was any indication – and she had a sense of humor. Then something she said earlier came back to him. "Out of curiosity, when was the last time you slept?"

She furrowed her brow in thought. "What's today? Tuesday?" He nodded, and she sighed. "Seven years ago. Actually, seven years, nine months, twelve days, fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes and – " She checked her watch, " – twenty-nine seconds. So almost eight years, I suppose."

And he thought his insomnia was bad. "How d'you function without sleep?"

She lifted her shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug. "Vulcans don't need as much as humans, and I've had periods of extended hibernation, which makes up for my not sleeping the rest of the time."

He was confused. "So you don't sleep because you don't need to?"

She shook her head sadly. "Every time I close my eyes, I have to watch my parents die. To be forced to relive that night after night…" She shuddered. "Eventually, I just stopped trying. I thought it might help me keep my sanity."

He understood all too well where she was coming from. After Lizzie had died during the Xindi attack, he'd had the same problem. Every time he tried to sleep, he dreamt about her dying. It was the reason T'Pol had agreed to give him neuro-pressure treatments.

But he was slightly surprised that Kamea was being so open with him. He had never met a Vulcan who was quite as willing to share seemingly personal bits of information with almost complete strangers. He had known T'Pol for three years, been intimate with her, and still barely knew anything. Then he remembered Kov, a member of the _V'tosh ka'tur_, and figured that her openness had something to do with her human half.

"You ever think 'bout sedatives?" he asked.

Her eyes widened imperceptibly. "I've been drugged too many times to even consider the possibility."

Trip decided to let that comment slide. Besides, Phlox had told him that sedatives weren't meant to be used for long periods of time – and seven years was generally considered a long period of time. "How 'bout neuro-pressure?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Neuro-pressure?"

It had been neuro-pressure sessions with T'Pol that had led to their night together. Trip had always been attracted to T'Pol – ever since their first argument, back on that first mission – but had never acted on it. It was a dance they did; they would fight, sparks would fly, but then one of them would concede and it would start all over again. Besides, he had never in his wildest dreams believed that T'Pol reciprocated. That night, however, was burned into his memory. They were in her quarters, kneeling on the floor. She was in that silk robe she wore, and he was shirtless, as usual. She was massaging his throat, and then she was…

He broke off the thought abruptly and forced himself to concentrate on Kamea, who was looking at him with confusion. He figured that maybe she didn't know what neuro-pressure was, having been raised on Earth, so he started explaining it to her. "The stimulation of the – "

"I know what it is," she said. "How do you know what it is? It's not a very common practice."

He coughed uncomfortably. He hadn't wanted to bring up the subject, especially because Kamea was telepathic. She was wearing her headband, yes, but that didn't mean that she couldn't figure out what was going on. "My sister died during the Xindi attack," he said, figuring that he should probably start at the beginning so she wouldn't get the wrong idea. "I had the same problem you do; every time I closed my eyes, I had to watch her die."

Kamea put a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss. It is never easy to lose someone you love." She paused, her eyes distant. "Especially in such a violent, abrupt way."

Trip smiled slightly. Maybe Kamea was more like T'Pol than he'd originally thought. "Anyway, the doc recommended neuro-pressure, so T'Pol was teaching me how to do it."

He wished he hadn't said anything. She raised her eyebrows suggestively as she removed her hand from his shoulder. "T'Pol was instructing you in the ways of Vulcan neuro-pressure?" He gave her a hard look, which only made her grin. "It's a very intimate procedure. My parents used to use it as a means of foreplay."

That was more information than he needed to know. He twisted an eyebrow quizzically. "I thought Vulcans were private."

She looked confused. "They are."

"Then why did your parents tell you they did that?"

Her nostrils flared slightly, but other than that, her face was a mask. "They didn't."

"Then how – " He broke off as he realized what she meant. He felt a smile creep onto his face as he imagined a little Kamea walking in on her parents. "Must've been very traumatic for you."

She shuddered again. "Turned me off neuro-pressure for life," she said. She glanced around at the engines, then looked back at him. "Well, since I've already done what you intended to do, what do you suggest?"

Trip grinned. "Now that you mention it, I've been dying to make some modifications to the warp drive."

Her smile threatened to split her face in two. It was odd, seeing such a huge smile on a Vulcan, and Trip had to remind himself that she was only half-Vulcan. Still, Lorian hadn't even shown that much emotion, and he was half-Vulcan, half-human, too.

"Lead the way," she said with a wink. She probably already knew the way.

* * *

**A/N: **I also read insanely fast; however, I don't have a very good memory, but some people do. Some people are able to recall the most insignificant details about something that they've read (my sister), so I wasn't trying to make Kamea into some super woman or anything. She's human (well, half), and she's going to have some major problems in upcoming books.

Oh, and you will eventually find out what happened to Kamea's parents. I mention it in I think the next chapter, but I'll go more in depth in a later book, which has yet to be written (although I had it written, and then my computer died and I lost everything on my hard drive, so I'll need to re-write it).


	6. Late Night Spar

**A/N: Information about the _pon'farr_ comes from the Vulcan Language Institute, but I had trouble understanding it, so I kind of wrote it based on my own interpretations. So cut me some slack on that part.**

**I have a diagram of the _Enterprise_ (thanks to the 2005 calendar), but it doesn't have the armory listed on there anywhere. Sickbay is on E-deck, and Kamea's quarters would be on D-deck, so for the sake of the story making sense, we'll say that the armory is on either E or D-deck. If anyone knows any different, please let me know.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviews! You guys are awesome!**

* * *

When Kamea returned to her quarters several hours later, she was exhausted. After spending much of the day in the engine room with Trip, Phlox had contacted her, insisting that they start their examinations as soon as possible. She went to sickbay after dinner, wary about the sorts of things Phlox wanted to know.

Most of the questions were medical related. He wanted to know about her history, any illnesses she had ever contracted, the sort of health that her parents had been in. He tested her reflexes, her blood pressure, her heart rate, her vision, her hearing, her lung capacity. She felt like a lab rat and kept waiting for the piece of cheese that would serve as her reward for sitting through his examination so patiently.

"Have you ever experienced any symptoms of _pon'farr_?" Phlox asked.

Kamea shook her head. "Not yet. I have reason to believe I'll never experience it. Vulcan males are the ones that initiate it, and females develop symptoms only through the telepathic link with their mates. I'm not bonded, so I don't anticipate it being a problem."

Phlox made a note on his PADD and nodded. "So then you've never engaged in intercourse?"

Kamea tensed. She'd hoped to avoid this particular topic of conversation. "Yes. I have."

The doctor's eyes widened. She knew it was uncharacteristic for Vulcans to engage in recreational intercourse, especially with someone other than their bonded mate. But Kamea had been raised among humans, and they had a different view.

"I see," Phlox said. "When did you last – "

"About five weeks ago," Kamea said, her lips curling around her teeth in a snarl. "Can we not talk about this, please? It's not something I wish to remember."

"Just one last question. Any chance you could be pregnant?"

Kamea glanced up at him. "I don't even know if it's possible for me to bear children. Hybrids are generally sterile due to the incompatibility of their genes. If I ever become pregnant, it'll be by the grace of God or Surak or whoever it is watching out for me."

Phlox said nothing in response, but he asked her to demonstrate her abilities for him. He gave her permission to enter his mind, so she read his thoughts, then did a mind-probe. She hated mind-probes; they tended to take a lot out of her, and this one was no exception. She wished he had asked her to do the mind-probe last, because he made her use her telekinesis, and she was so drained from the probe that the bio bed she was supposed to be lifting to the ceiling broke free of her grasp and feel to the floor with a crash that they had probably heard all over the ship.

"I think that's enough for today, hmmm?" Phlox said. Kamea had to bite her cheek so as not to spit out a sarcastic retort, and instead simply nodded and left sickbay.

She stumbled her way through the corridors, barely able to remember the way to her quarters. She actually fell while passing the armory, stopped from hitting the ground by the excellent reflexes of Lieutenant Reed, who happened to be passing.

She looked up at him, barely able to make out his face through her exhaustion. "_Mahalo_."

"Are you all right?" Malcolm asked, his arms still around her.

"I will be fine," she said. Her words slurred as her mind swirled. "The doctor asked me to demonstrate my abilities. I'm afraid I may have overdone it."

He helped her to her feet. "Do you need help back to your quarters?"

She shook her head, but the action made her dizzy. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to collapse again. "I can manage. Thank you."

He didn't seem to believe her, but thankfully he let her go, and she managed to make it back to her quarters with little incident.

She tried to meditate but knew almost immediately that she would never be able to concentrate enough to gain anything from it. It seemed that seven-and-a-half years without sleep was finally beginning to take its toll on her already fragile psyche. She had thought that the hibernation and the dehydration-induced sleep would be enough to pacify her for some time, but it had been almost eight years since she'd had an actual night's sleep. Her brain was starting to respond.

She crawled into bed without bothering to change and curled into the fetal position, determined not to fall asleep. But exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Nightmares plagued her slumber. She saw the Andorians approach. Her father pleaded with them to discuss the situation logically. She saw the first one attack, stabbing her father in the abdomen. She saw the next one get her mother, who died instantly. She sensed something snap within her – anger so fierce that it seemed almost elemental in nature – and she lashed out at the attackers with her mind. Unfortunately, she didn't manage to kill any of them, but they fled all the same. She held her father's head as he passed. She felt her father's hands on her face, heard his voice in her ear.

"_Vokau_," he had said. "Remember."

Kamea woke with a jolt, sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. A glance at the chronometer on her wall revealed that she had only been asleep less than thirty minutes. Her father's last words still lingered in her ear, floating across her mind as they had for the better part of eight years. For yet another night, sleep would elude her.

She took a cold shower to shock herself awake enough to properly function – and to wash off the grease she was covered in – and then she changed into one of her catsuits. She preferred her jeans, as they were more comfortable. She wasn't quite sure what had prompted her to wear such binding fabric. Her thoughts strayed briefly to Lieutenant Reed, but she angrily pushed them aside.

However, she did remember waking briefly, brought to consciousness by the intoxicating scent of pineapple, and seeing his face. A girl could wake up to worse things. She remembered being entranced with his eyes. It was like she had stared into his soul – and he had a good one, there was no denying that. She felt an instant connection – an attraction, like electricity, had coursed through her. That same electricity had shocked her the previous day, in the mess hall, and just hours ago, when he had caught her in his arms.

Her mother used to speak of such a connection. According to her mother, it was the reason she had trusted her feelings about Lorian. Her mother's voice replaced her father's in her mind. _Sometimes you just know. I can't really explain it. But it's instant. It's electrifying. And it's binding. You'll never be the same._

Once Kamea was changed, she headed out of her quarters and began to aimlessly wander the ship. It took hours; she went everywhere, carefully avoiding the crew, until they started to drift off for a good night's sleep. Most of them were still uncomfortable around her, and she didn't want anyone to get suspicious of her motives. She told herself she was doing this to familiarize herself with the layout of the ship, but she really knew it was because she wanted to take her mind off the nightmare. It was the same one she had every time she tried to sleep – the one that made her wake in a cold sweat, no matter what. The one that prevented her from having any semblance of a normal life.

She walked through engineering, running her fingers along the engine with the kind of awe that most people reserved for cemeteries or monuments. She peered into sickbay and watched Phlox doing some of his experiments, thankful that there was something that could distract him from her. She ducked into the mess hall for a quick drink of tea, hoping the caffeine would keep her awake. She visited the ship's library and immersed herself in the numerous texts that were available, including some of Captain Archer's old logs. The only place she didn't go was the bridge.

She ended up in the training room, which was empty. She was hardly dressed for a workout, but she needed to vent some frustration in as healthy a manner as possible. Pummeling something seemed as good an idea as any.

She explored the room until she found everything she needed. She set up a punching bag, wrapped her wrists, and programmed the computer to blast very loud, very pulsating music. Then she attacked. She fought with her shadow. She fought with her reflection. She fought with the disembodied voice that followed her every moment of her life. And when she was done, she turned on the punching bag. She tore into it with a fury that surprised even her, clawing and kicking as if that punching bag had ruined her life and not the Andorians or her father. When she no longer had the strength to attack it physically, she lashed out with her mind. She focused all her energy and what little strength she had left on making the bag expand until it finally burst apart, sending pieces all over the room. Drained, she collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily.

As she struggled to regain her composure, she realized that she was not alone.

"Computer, stop music," Lieutenant Reed said from somewhere by the door. Kamea cursed as the last chord echoed off the walls. "Nice moves."

"Gotta keep my figure," she said, hoping that her voice didn't sound as frustrated as she imagined it did. She blamed her unawareness of her surroundings on the loud music, her frustration, and her exhaustion. She obviously wasn't thinking clearly, or she would have noticed him enter much sooner. She hung her head; she was allowing her emotions to control her. That was how she had gotten into trouble in the first place.

When she raised her head, she found herself staring in Malcolm's bright blue eyes. He crouched in front of her, looking concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked, for the second time that night.

She considered lying, but knew her appearance would contradict anything she said. And depending on how long he had been watching her, he would be able to tell that something was wrong. She slowed her breathing and said, "I am having trouble falling asleep."

He nodded at the punching bag, or what was left of it. "I can see that." He sat down on the floor. "Anything I can help you with?"

She shook her head and sat down as well. "I had a nightmare."

He cocked his head to the side. "I didn't realize Vulcans had nightmares."

She was too tired to remind him that she was only half-Vulcan, and to tell the truth, she was sick of saying that. People only saw her as Vulcan because of her appearance – the arched eyebrows and pointed ears were dead giveaways – but she was just as much human as Vulcan. Perhaps more so. "What are you still doing awake?" she asked.

He smiled. She could fall in love with that smile. She shook that thoughtout of her head. She would get in trouble thinkinglike that."Subtly changing the subject, are we?" he asked."You don't want to tell me what your nightmare was about?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's really none of your business."

He held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "All right. I get the picture. As for what I'm doing, I find it easier to train at night. The muscles are looser, reaction time is quicker."

"I've interrupted your training," she said, starting to rise. "I will leave you – "

She stopped as she felt his hand on her arm. She felt the familiar prickling of electricity as it shot through her body, threatening to exploded out of her toes. Her heart began to beat very rapidly, and she fought to keep her breathing steady. This was what her mother had warned her about. Kamea hadn't believed her until now.

"You don't have to go," he said, using her weight to pull himself to his feet. "I could use a sparring partner."

She desperately tried to remove all emotion from her voice. It was going to be difficult enough to speak with her heart in her throat. "I had not pegged you as the type of guy who would hit a girl, Lieutenant."

He grinned. "Well, from what I saw earlier, you'll be a worthy adversary. And I thought I told you to call me Malcolm. Computer, resume music."

They sparred. Malcolm was a good match. They fought their way across the room, their punches and kicks in time to the music that blared from the speakers. They took turns dominating the fight. He used some alien moves on her – mostly Klingon – so she countered by using some moves that she had picked up from the Rigellians. Whenever he managed to flip her over, she used her Vulcan strength to drag him down with her.

For a while, it seemed like Kamea was going to win, but then she misjudged a kick and aimed too far to the left. She told herself it was due to fatigue – after all, she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in eight years. Malcolm caught her leg with his arm, then did a sweeping kick that knocked her flat on her back. As he came down for the final blow, she rolled out of the way and leapt to her feet. They started the dance all over again.

Kamea punched, Malcolm ducked. Malcolm kicked, Kamea dodged. She evaded a combination by performing a series of acrobatics she hadn't done in quite some time and didn't believe she was capable of anymore. He managed to parry a well-placed kick at his head, but she had less luck blocking a shot to her abdomen. She stumbled backwards and, angered, attacked with a roll, knocking him to the floor. It took him a while to get up, and Kamea used the time to work a knot out of her shoulder, which would surely be a bruise in the morning.

After several more intense minutes of sparring, Malcolm finally had Kamea pinned to the ground, but she had just enough energy for one final move. She grabbed his arms, put her feet on his stomach, and flipped him over her head. But that zapped her remaining strength, and so she wasn't able to complete the move, which would have her straddling his stomach. She just lay on her back, still clutching his arms.

"Call it a draw?" Malcolm asked, panting.

Kamea was also breathing heavily. "Agreed. Computer, stop music." She pulled herself into a seated position with a wince. She and Malcolm sat back to back, using each other to hold themselves upright. Ordinarily, such close contact with a man would make her uncomfortable, as numerous unfortunate incidents with Wat had ruined her opinion of men, but she was too exhausted to care. And there was no denying the connection she felt between them.

After a few minutes of silence filled only by the sound of their labored breathing, Malcolm asked, "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you now?"

She didn't have the strength to glare. "Vulcans are very private individuals."

"You've already been very forthcoming with Commander Tucker," he said, a note of hurt in his voice. It sounded as if he were jealous.

"There's a difference between relating anecdotes from my past and opening up," she said.

He sniffed. "I thought perhaps you might need someone to talk to."

She tried to shake her head but didn't have the energy. Instead, her head flopped to the side, resting on Malcolm's shoulder, so that she was staring at the ceiling. "You don't strike me as that kind of person."

"What do you mean?"

"You're emotionally closed off." Kamea hadn't even realized she'd been reading him until the words came out of her mouth; but she also knew that she was regurgitating what others had told her about the lieutenant. Trip had been more than eager to tell her all sorts of stories when she asked about Malcolm earlier that day – like how no one knew enough about him to know what to do for his birthday. "You're afraid of getting close to people because you're afraid of getting hurt."

The edge in his voice could have only meant that she was correct, whether or not he would admit it. "What makes you think that?"

She shrugged, but the effort made her cringe. Too weak to warm down, her muscles were starting to seize up. "We can smell our own," she said. "It's hard to let people in when anyone you've ever cared for has abandoned you – willingly or not."

"Look," he said, and she felt him shift position, "I may not let people in very easily, but I know what it's like to need someone to talk to. I'm here if you need me."

She swallowed. He was being sincere. "I appreciate it, but what I'm dealing with is something I have to face on my own. I've talked about it before, and nothing seems to help. I think perhaps I'm meant to suffer."

He turned to face her, but the sudden lack of support caused her to collapse against the mat. "No one is meant to suffer, Kamea."

She continued to stare at the ceiling. "I wish that were true."


	7. Captain's Table

**A/N: I changed this chapter a little bit, because I didn't like how they just dove into conversation about Kamea. I figured they should talk about something else first, and also I had an idea about a moment during movie night, so I wanted to bring it up beforehand.**

* * *

After Archer's shift on the bridge, he retired to his cabin. He was exhausted. He spent much of his free time puzzling over everything Phlox had collected regarding Kamea, and he didn't think he could take any more, but he was at a loss. Her story was highly implausible, but she had the medical evidence to back it up. Phlox had analyzed her DNA and identified both the human and Vulcan genomes, determined that the brownish color of her blood was due to the balance of copper and iron, and isolated the primary zones of her brain. But to Archer, none of it made any sense. He didn't think it was possible for Vulcans and humans to reproduce; T'Pol had told him as much. So he found it hard to accept that there was a Vulcan/human hybrid older than him wandering around the universe.

For the first few days, she'd kept to herself, and Archer was personally glad. It meant less of a chance of her causing trouble. But then Archer started seeing her around more often, mostly in the mess hall and engineering when he went to check on Trip's progress. He didn't like watching her poke around the engines, despite Trip's insistence that she was a reincarnation of Zefram Cochrane. Archer finally asked Trip to tell Kamea that she wasn't allowed in engineering when Trip wasn't there to supervise. Trip's characteristic response had been that he wasn't a babysitter and that Kamea didn't need one anyway, as she was at least twice his age.

Archer set down the PADD he'd been examining and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he glanced at the chronometer, he realized that he had approximately five minutes until dinner with Trip and T'Pol. It was such a rarity to get them both at the table at once anymore that he didn't want to miss it.

Both his first officer and his chief engineer were there when he arrived, and both stood when he entered.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Archer said. "My two commanders are in the same room. I must be hallucinating."

Trip groaned and rolled his eyes, but T'Pol said, "Captain, I assure you that it is no hallucination."

Archer smiled. "Thanks for clearing that up, T'Pol." He sat down and the other two followed suit. The steward served them their meals. They ate in silence for a while, and Archer's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them.

Finally, Trip broke the silence. "Hey, Cap'n, what would you think 'bout startin' movie night up again?"

Archer lifted his eyes from his steak, only to find that the chief engineer wasn't looking at him. "Any particular reason?"

Trip shrugged and finally met the captain's gaze. "It used to be a pretty regular occurrence. Things with the Xindi threw us all out of whack, and I think it'd be a good idea to get back to some kind of normal routine."

Archer mulled over the decision, leaving an opening for T'Pol. "I believe the crew has more important things to focus on than movie night."

Trip scoffed. "I don't think so, T'Pol. I mean, we got a bunch of new crewmembers trying to fit in. Movie night's a good social atmosphere. They can get to know their crewmates."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "How do they expect to 'get to know' their crewmates when they are generally not permitted to speak during the film?"

"It's not that," Trip said, shaking his head, as if in disbelief. "It's a good conversation piece. I've noticed that some of our new people are havin' some trouble fittin' in, and I just thought this would help. Besides, I've kinda missed it."

Archer didn't need three guesses to know to whom Trip was referring, and he figured that he should interrupt before this became another of their infamous arguments. "So, Trip, how are things going in engineering?"

"Is that your subtle way of askin' if Kamea's stayin' outta trouble?" Trip asked, cutting a ridiculously large piece of steak and popping it in his mouth. "'Cause she is. Though she doesn't like bein' chaperoned and I've got too much to do to worry 'bout keepin' an eye on someone who could teach Jeffries a thing or two 'bout engineerin'."

T'Pol glanced at Trip, visibly disgusted with his eating habits, which hadn't happened for over a year. "Captain Archer is quite right to want to keep her under supervision. We know nothing about her."

Trip looked at her in astonishment. "She's your cousin."

"I see no reason to believe her story. She has offered no evidence to substantiate her claim."

Archer cleared his throat. "Actually, that's not entirely accurate."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "What isn't accurate?"

"The no evidence part," Archer said. "Phlox wanted to know if she was telling the truth, so he ran a sample of her DNA against a sample of yours."

"What did he find?" Trip asked, scraping his fork across his plate.

"Enough of a correlation between the two to convince him that she is who she says she is."

Archer's ears perked as T'Pol snorted. It was such an uncharacteristic response that both he and Trip looked up in mild shock. "Impossible," T'Pol said. "My mother was an only child."

Archer shook his head. T'Pol was nothing if not stubborn. It was the time travel debacle all over again. "Phlox also told me that Kamea mentioned her father's name. I thought if you heard it, it might jog your memory." _And it definitely answers more than a few questions,_ Archer thought.

He searched T'Pol's face for a reaction and thought he detected discomfort in her features. She shifted in her seat and looked at him; she obviously wasn't about to stoop to asking for the name. He sighed and stared at his dinner. Phlox had told him the name of Kamea's father, and Archer hadn't believed him. But why would Kamea lie about something like that, especially when she clearly had profound respect for her father? When Archer glanced up again, he saw that Trip was now looking at him expectantly, and only then did he remember just how much this knowledge affected his chief engineer, too.

"Don't keep us in suspense, Cap'n," Trip said, his mouth full of steak. "Inquirin' minds wanna know."

Archer cleared his throat. "Apparently, Kamea claims that her father's name was Lorian."

Trip's fork fell from his hand with a clatter. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide as he stared across the table at nothing. T'Pol's face showed no reaction, but she stiffened noticeably. Her dark eyes met the captain's. "She is obviously lying."

Archer shook his head. He'd already thought of that. "I had Phlox check her records. She's on the level. Lorian's name is on her birth certificate." He glanced at Trip, who was still agog. "Her mother's name was Kalea Ululani." He saw Trip's expression change slightly. "Name ring a bell, Trip?"

"I thought it was an urban legend," the chief engineer said, his voice barely a whisper, obviously still digesting what Archer had just told them.

T'Pol's eyebrow lifted. "Is that name supposed to hold some significance?"

Trip didn't seem capable of intelligent conversation, so Archer explained. "She was a cadet in the early days of Starfleet. Supposedly a brilliant engineer. One day, the Vulcans went to command and asked that she be expelled from the academy. Never told them exactly why, just that she had done the Vulcan people a great injustice. Rumor started to spread that she'd married a Vulcan." Archer stared at T'Pol, willing her to speak. "Anything to add?"

Her face was expressionless. "As you said, Captain, it was just a rumor."

"But it's not, though, is it?" When T'Pol didn't respond, Archer slammed his hand on the table. "Damnit, T'Pol, I want an answer! And if you even think the word 'classified', I'll confine you to quarters."

T'Pol's blank stare lasted several moments before her face dissolved into a frustrated look. "Lorian used to contact my mother. She never spoke of him in front of me. It was as though he never existed. He brought great shame upon our family."

"Then why'd you name our son after him?" Trip asked.

T'Pol furrowed her brow. "We do not have a son, Commander. I assume my counterpart found the name appropriate, given the situation."

"The blanket," Trip said, his voice hoarse. "The name on the blanket. You knew. You knew the whole time."

She averted her eyes. "Yes. I was…uncertain of how to tell you."

Archer immediately felt uncomfortable. This conversation was straying in a direction that he had not wished it to go, and it was sure to end badly. He should have suspected that Trip and T'Pol's relationship had progressed – what with the arrival of their son – but he had been in denial. He had always harbored less than platonic feelings for his first officer, and he didn't appreciate the competition, especially from his best friend. Trip and T'Pol had a volatile relationship, and Archer used to joke that Trip must be sweet on the Vulcan because of the way he purposely picked fights with her. Archer had seen the way Trip reacted to T'Pol's marriage, the way the two had avoided each other after _Enterprise's_ re-launch. Perhaps he had been willingly ignoring what was right in front of his face.

Trip turned slowly to face Archer. "So Kamea is telling the truth?"

Archer nodded. "Phlox seems to think so."


	8. Alone in the Turbo Lift

T'Pol pressed the button for the turbo lift. She'd come up with an excuse to leave the captain's table. The entire conversation was awkward and uncomfortable, and she had wanted out of there. She could barely look at Trip. She felt guilty for concealing the knowledge about Lorian, but she hadn't realized how much the information would affect him. Besides, she had been reeling from everything that had happened. To discover that her fabled uncle and married a human and successfully produced a child was a little more than she was able to deal with at the moment.

Although it had lifted her mood considerably to learn that it was possible for humans and Vulcans to conceive.

She heard footsteps in the corridor behind her and recognized Trip's brisk, easy stride even before his all-too-familiar scent hit her nose. He walked right up to her and stood so that he brushed against her shoulder. She had always found his touch comforting, and now was no exception. She could feel the awkwardness dissolving as his hand reached up to stroke the small of her back.

When the lift arrived, they silently stepped aboard. But after the doors shut, Trip reached over and pressed the emergency stop button.

T'Pol turned to face Trip with raised eyebrows.

"We need to talk," he said, leaning back against the wall of the lift. He didn't look at her.

She felt a knot form in her stomach. He surely wanted to discuss their relationship – or lack thereof. It was a conversation she'd been hoping to avoid. The thought of talking about the fact that they couldn't be together would simply be too much for T'Pol's already shattered soul. She looked at him. "We are talking, Mister Tucker."

He gave her a half smile. "Y'know, I normally find that cute, but now's not the time."

She nodded, although her head spun from the offhand compliment. "What do you wish to talk about, Commander?"

He bit his lip and shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me your uncle's name was Lorian?"

She blinked at him, slightly surprised. She'd been expecting something else entirely. "It is complicated."

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "I got time. We're not goin' anywhere for a while."

She stared into his eyes. She could drown in those eyes. Emotions clouded her logic, and before she quite realized what she was doing, she had taken a step towards him and placed a hand on his chest. His pupils dilated, and had she been human, she would have smiled. "I do not wish to discuss this here. We will go to my quarters."

He gulped and stared back at her. "I don't trust myself alone with you."

The contact she made with him, though it was through clothing, short-circuited her brain. She ran her hand down his chest and stomach. "We're alone now, Trip."

He shivered. "Damn, woman. You're trying to undo me. And as much as I would love to see this through to the end…" He grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his stomach. "…You're married. At the end of the day, we're alone in an elevator, but you're still married."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and looked at the floor. She had wanted so badly to touch him again that she allowed herself to forget that she was married. But of course he could not forget. Nothing could ever happen while she was married to Koss; Trip had said that much after her return from Vulcan. She took a step back from him, nodding. "I apologize," she said. "It was unintentional."

He looked skeptical but thankfully said nothing about her lapse in judgment. "Why didn't you tell me about the blanket?"

She sighed. "I didn't want to believe it. Lorian was…_persona non grata_ at my house." Trip smirked at her use of the human term; indeed, it was a phrase she had picked up from him. "We were not to speak of him. I was not even to know that he existed. But I heard my father and his brother discussing him and his communications with my mother. I eventually slipped that information into the back of my brain and nearly forgot it entirely…until we met the other _Enterprise_, and Lorian. Everything came back to me." She searched his face for a reaction, but he just looked back at her with rapt attention, mouth half open, so she continued. "My mother despised what he had done to our family, but I suspect she was envious that he had been brave enough to risk everything for this woman. My mother is strong, but I doubt she would ever do something like that."

"And you?" Trip asked, his voice soft. "Are you strong enough?"

Her eyes stung with tears that she was too proud – or too Vulcan – to shed. "I think we both know that I am not."

The corners of Trip's mouth tugged upwards in the trace hint of a smile. "I think you underestimate yourself, darlin'." He leaned forward, and T'Pol closed her eyes expectantly, waiting for his lips to press against hers. But when the lift began to move, she opened her eyes and saw that he had retreated to his original position against the wall.

He looked at her. "Y'know, maybe you gettin' married was for the best."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow as her heart plummeted into her stomach. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I've been thinkin' that Romeo and Juliet would have stood a better chance at makin' it as a couple than us." T'Pol's breath caught in her throat. Why would Trip believe that two children who had chosen to take their own lives would have had more luck than them? But Trip wasn't finished. "But then Kamea showed up, and I'm startin' to think that maybe that play could've had a happy ending after all."

* * *

**A/N: Had to put the "Romeo and Juliet" comment in there. It feeds in to later chapters.**


	9. Enterprise's Resident Insomniac

Kamea lifted the port nacelle above her head, hoping that the different angle would give her a better perspective on the problem. No such luck. She wished Trip were there to help, but he had more important things to do in the middle of the night than help Kamea rebuild her ship. He was probably sleeping, like all normal people. She sighed and set the part down.

Unable to sleep – again – she had aimlessly wandered around the ship until she'd arrived at the launch bay and decided to work on her pod. The lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with her; she was constantly yawning and had dozed off more than once in engineering that day. But every time she tried to sleep, her nightmares would return full force. She was lucky if she got an hour of sleep – she usually got a half-hour at most. She considered going to Phlox but didn't think it was anyone's business but her own that she couldn't sleep.

But she'd told Trip. And Malcolm.

She groaned and grabbed the offending part. "Mom," she said, her eyes skyward, "I really wish you were here right now."

"Would you settle for a ship's captain?"

Kamea turned around. Archer was standing in the entrance to the launch bay, as he had been for several minutes, probably amused at the sight of seeing her struggle with a piece of machinery. She'd recognized the unmistakable odor of his dog as soon as he arrived, but she had discovered that most of the crew didn't appreciate her addressing them before she was supposed to know that they were there.

"Not unless you can tell me what's wrong with my port nacelle," she said, holding it out as evidence. It was only half the reason she so desperately wanted to talk to her mother again, but she didn't think the captain would like hearing about her inappropriate thoughts regarding his chief of security. "It'll be difficult for my ship to go anywhere without this."

Archer coughed. "Sorry. Can't help you there."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You're up late, Captain. And here I thought I was the ship's resident insomniac."

"I was looking for you, actually."

"You found me," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Something I can help you with?"

He straightened. "I thought maybe you'd like to join myself, T'Pol, and Commander Tucker at the captain's mess tomorrow for breakfast."

Kamea snorted and picked at some rust on the nacelle. "That'll be a fun meal – me and T'Pol."

"She's warming up to the idea of you on board," Archer said.

Kamea was less than convinced. Her only comparison of Vulcans came from her father, but even Lorian had been very stubborn. She supposed that she got her stubborn streak from him. But Lorian wasn't a typical Vulcan, and Kamea knew that. Still, she imagined that T'Pol was just as stubborn, if not more so. Kamea looked at the captain. "I find that hard to believe." She examined the captain's face and was frustrated when she could not determine his motives. But she knew he had to have an ulterior one. She sighed. "Very well. What time should I be there?"

"0700. Sharp. Come hungry."

After Archer had gone, Kamea kicked at a stray part and sent it flying across the launch bay. "_Kuamuamu!_"

It took her only a few minutes to realize that she needed the part she had just kicked, so she stuck out her arm and watched as it zoomed into her outstretched hand.

* * *

**A/N: _Kuamuamu -_ "damn"**


	10. The Breakfast from Hell

Trip drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the tabletop, mainly because he knew it drove T'Pol crazy, but also because Archer was late and he was getting restless. The captain had insisted that both Trip and T'Pol join him in the captain's mess for breakfast, despite the fact that they'd all had dinner together the night before. Being around T'Pol was still a little awkward, and it was difficult to be alone with her for prolonged periods of time. So instead of trying to make conversation, he continued to drum his fingers.

T'Pol turned to him. "Captain Archer is rarely late. Perhaps something is wrong?"

Trip bit the inside of his cheek. Always a distinct possibility, but he liked to think someone would have realized that by now. "Maybe. Unless this is some elaborate ploy to get you and me talkin'."

Suddenly the door opened and Archer walked in, so Trip knew it wasn't a plot to leave him and T'Pol alone long enough to hash out the horrid details of their less than ideal situation. Trip's eyebrows shot into his hairline as Kamea followed closely behind Archer. She looked about as uncomfortable as humanly possible and had clearly been railroaded into joining them this morning.

"Good morning," Archer said with a smile, taking his seat at the head of the table. He gestured to the empty chair across from Trip, and Kamea sat down. "I trust you all know Kamea. She needed some convincing to join us, which is why we're late."

"I was working out an engineering problem with my ship," she said pointedly, a dark glare leveled at Archer. "I don't like to stop in the middle of something. It disrupts my rhythm."

Something the chief engineer could understand perfectly. Kamea still looked uncomfortable, so Trip tried to put her at ease. "Speak o' the devil, how's your ship comin'?"

Her face relaxed slightly. "The port nacelle is fried. It's going to take a little longer than I had originally anticipated to get the warp drive up and running again."

The steward served the food, and Trip wrinkled his nose at the meal. It was _plo'mik_ soup – a traditional Vulcan dish. He'd had some while at T'Pol's house, but they had never had it at the captain's table. Usually T'Pol would have a salad and Trip and Archer would eat whatever the meal of the day was.

"_Plo'mik_ soup?" Trip asked, casting a quick glance at T'Pol before turning his gaze on the captain.

"I thought that, since our table is now fifty percent Vulcan, we'd have a traditional Vulcan meal," Archer said. He was clearly pleased with his thoughtfulness. Trip narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Why hadn't he ever offered to have Vulcan food when it was just the three of them? It certainly would have made T'Pol more comfortable.

Kamea cocked an eyebrow. She apparently did not consider Archer's gesture to be as thoughtful as the captain did. "The gesture is appreciated, Captain," She emphasized the word "appreciated" in a way that could only imply that it was untrue, "since my only experience with Vulcan cuisine has been my father's cooking, and no opinion should be based solely on my father's cooking."

Trip grinned."Not a good cook?" he asked.

"The last time he made _plo'mik_ soup," Kamea said, "I was about twelve. He burned it."

"I didn't think it was possible to burn soup," Archer said, while Trip fought to control his sudden fit of laughter.

Kamea tilted her head to the side. "Neither did I. After that, my mother decreed that any cooking in the house was to be done by her, lest one of us die of food poisoning." She tried a spoonful of soup. A twitch of an eyebrow was her only reaction. "My mother was a much better cook."

T'Pol cleared her throat, which caused the other three to look at her. "I do hope she made vegetarian meals."

Trip's eyes widened at T'Pol's blatantly condescending tone. She hadn't used it in over a year. Kamea, however, didn't seem the least bit offended. "Is that your subtle way of asking me if I adhere to Vulcan cultural tradition and don't consume meat?" Kamea asked. "You know, you shouldn't judge someone based on her eating habits."

She ate some more soup, and Trip couldn't help smirking. He'd told T'Pol the same thing, at her very first meal in the captain's mess.

"For the most part," Kamea said, "yes, I am a vegetarian. However, I challenge you to grow up in Hawaii and not have seafood."

"How about your dad?" Archer asked.

Kamea lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, her eyes trained on her soup. Trip could tell that the question made her uneasy. "Why is it so important what my father ate? He'd dead. Pass the salt."

The salt sat next to Trip, so he handed it across the table to Kamea and watched in amusement as she applied a hefty amount to her soup. An awkward silence descended. T'Pol was clearly upset at Kamea's presence, and Trip couldn't understand why Archer had invited her to breakfast. He liked Kamea, but he got the feeling that Archer had ulterior motives behind his invitation.

Trip coughed, desperate to change the subject. "I could help you with that nacelle."

Something softened in Kamea's eyes. She appeared relieved at the shift in conversation. "Your assistance would be welcome, Commander. I suspect it's the power coupling. It may need to be replaced."

Trip nodded and took a sip of coffee. "I'd be happy to take a look at it after my shift today."

Kamea smiled, and Trip felt himself smile in return. There was something beautiful about the way Kamea smiled. Maybe it was because it was so rare to see such emotion on a Vulcan. He wished T'Pol would smile. As beautiful as she was, a smile would make her even more so. But a smile would mean that she wasn't the Vulcan he had fallen in love with.

He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his ankle and realized with a start that T'Pol had kicked him. He glanced at her, a smile quickly spreading as it dawned on him that she was jealous. He had been staring at Kamea and she was jealous. He decided to hassle T'Pol some more. He turned back to Kamea, who bore an amused expression. She'd obviously seen what he had. "Gonna join us in engineerin' this mornin'?"

Kamea nodded. "Of course. Perhaps we could further discuss your theory regarding the plasma conduits."

The way she said it indicated that she really had something else in mind, and his smile widened as he realized that Kamea was goading T'Pol as well. He nodded. "Sure thing. I'd love to get your opinion on some other things I've been meanin' to try out, too. Whaddaya know 'bout cascadin' ion drives?"

"A very risky design. The Vulcans attempted it more than a century ago, with disastrous results. The idea was abandoned."

Trip cocked an eyebrow and turned to face T'Pol. "No kiddin'? The Vulcans made a mistake?"

T'Pol's eyes were ice. "Vulcans are not infallible, Commander." She emphasized his rank in a way he knew was supposed to be an insult.

"Coulda fooled me."

T'Pol leveled her glare at Kamea. "Information such as that is classified."

Kamea's features hardened. "Like I care." She sounded like an emotional teenager. She drained a significant portion of her water and then turned back to T'Pol. Trip unconsciously pushed his chair away from the table. "Besides, it's not like I said anything specific – merely that the theory had been tested."

"I do not trust you," T'Pol said. It was more of a snarl. Trip inched his chair farther away from the table.

Kamea sighed and sat back in her chair. Any evidence of her anger was gone, and her tone was much softer when she spoke. "You don't trust me because you don't want to believe that everything I've said is the truth. You don't want to acknowledge that you had an uncle about which you knew nothing. You don't want to admit that there's a distinct possibility that the High Command has been lying to the Vulcan people for years. And you don't want to believe that it's possible for a human and a Vulcan to have a successful relationship because it makes the idea of your marriage that much more difficult to bear."

Trip couldn't tell who was more shocked by her statement – the captain, T'Pol, or himself. How had she known about him and T'Pol? Were they that obvious? How had she known T'Pol was married, and that her marriage was one of convenience and not a mutual undertaking? Most of the crew knew about T'Pol's wedding to Koss, and he knew they suspected a relationship between the two of them, but to the best of his knowledge no one had shared that information with Kamea. Since coming out of her quarters, she'd spent most of her time with him in engineering – and he hadn't said a word – or alone in the launch bay with her ship. It didn't add up.

"How'd you know 'bout that?" Trip asked, stammering his way through the sentence.

Archer was livid. "I told you that you weren't to use your abilities on my crew."

The amused look returned to Kamea's eyes. They almost seemed to gleam. "Give me some credit, Captain. I didn't need to read anyone's mind to know that." She returned to her soup, and an awkward silence fell upon the table. It was suddenly broken when Kamea turned back to T'Pol. "Are you familiar with the play 'Romeo and Juliet'?"

Trip stiffened. He knew T'Pol was familiar with it, because he'd lent it to her during their long trip to Vulcan. And even if he hadn't, she definitely would have looked up the reference after their conversation in the turbo lift the previous night. He stared at T'Pol, waiting for her answer.

T'Pol nodded curtly. "I have read it. Why do you ask?"

Kamea shrugged, absentmindedly stirring her soup. "I just thought you could relate to Juliet. She was also pushed into a marriage of convenience. However, she chose to die rather than do so." She stood abruptly. "Well, if no one minds, I'd like to get back to work on my ship."

With that, she turned on her heel and left.

Trip cleared his throat. "She's…observant." He wasn't sure what else to say.

T'Pol relaxed visibly now that Kamea was gone. "Her conduct leaves something to be desired. It makes me question her upbringing."

"Aw, c'mon, T'Pol. Give 'er a break. She's on a strange ship, around humans for the first time in years, and a lot of 'em can't even stand bein' near her. She just needs time to adjust, that's all."

T'Pol's next statement was said so quietly that Trip was sure it hadn't been meant for anyone's ears but her own. But he heard it all the same. "Her attitude is what needs adjusting."

Trip smirked and leaned closer to his bowl of soup to hide his reaction from T'Pol. Loudly, he said, "What's for dessert?"

* * *

**A/N: Again, not an engineer. English major, remember? But I got the whole cascading ion thing from "Daedalus" and "Daedalus's Children", "Enterprise" books by Dave Stern.**

**How Kamea knew about the whole Trip/T'Pol thing will be explained (quasi-explained, perhaps) in later chapters. **

**May I also say how much I loved "Affliction"? I practically got up and danced after that one T/T scene, but I didn't, because I'm not feeling well and I had a cat on my lap.**

**Oh, and all I found out about _plo'mik_ soup (from the Vulcan Language Institute, bless them) was that a _plo'mik_ is a kind of vegetable, so I'm guessing (logically) thatit's like a vegetable soup, and I have burned soup before, so it is possible. It just means that you're a really really really really really bad cook. Which I am.**


	11. Dance

**Last night I realized I hadn't yet put a disclaimer on this story, so here it is:**

**Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Paramount or Star Trek and am receiving no profit for this story. It's just for fun. Please don't sue - I only work part time and you wouldn't get much out of me anyway.**

* * *

Malcolm couldn't sleep. He held to a very specific routine and had done so since his days at the academy. His inability to adhere to it was beginning to worry him – and so was the fact that all of his problems seemed to stem from Kamea's arrival on _Enterprise._ What was so appealing about Kamea that had his stomach constantly tied up in knots? Yes, she was attractive, but there were a fair number of attractive women onboard the _Enterprise_… Of course, Starfleet regulations expressly prohibited fraternization, which was the main reason he had never attempted to have a relationship with any of those attractive crewmembers.

Kamea, on the other hand, was not a member of Starfleet. She wasn't even technically a member of _Enterprise's_ crew, so those regulations wouldn't apply to her. Was that the reason he couldn't seem to get her out of his mind? Was that why she visited his dreams every night and behaved in a very non-Vulcan manner? He'd had erotic dreams before, but they had never been quite so intense. He would wake up still aroused and had to take numerous cold showers every morning to get his body back to normal. Other than the physical attraction, he couldn't think of any other explanations, because he knew very little about her, other than she liked Earl Grey tea, was a damn fine engineer, and knew a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat.

And that every time he touched her, he felt like he was losing his mind.

After their first spar, he had run into her half a dozen times. She always seemed to be in the training room just as he walked in to begin his daily workout. He knew that she couldn't sleep and wandered around the ship for lack of anything else to do, but the way she always ended up in the training room was either an amazing coincidence or a testament to something deeper.

Malcolm prayed for the coincidence, because the connection he felt with Kamea was something that went beyond anything he'd ever felt before. And the thought scared him to death.

Every time they sparred, it got more heated – more intense. It seemed as if they were both putting everything they had into these spars, as if they were both trying to get away from something. Their spars were turning out like his dreams, as if fighting each other was their own warped brand of intimacy. They fought until they were exhausted – Kamea had collapsed from fatigue more than once – but even though they drained Malcolm like nothing else, he couldn't fathom putting a stop to them.

And it was that odd sort of masochism that had him stumbling to the training room in the middle of the night, desperate for his daily interlude with Kamea.

When he arrived, he found that Kamea had already started without him – and that she was doing an entirely different workout. The music blaring from the speakers was not the bass-heavy rock music she had been favoring, but a soft, lilting classical melody. And she wasn't shadow boxing or doing karate exercises. She was dancing.

He'd noticed how graceful she was during their spars – she could execute acrobatics like he had never seen – but as he watched her dance, he realized that there was so much more to it. She had obviously taken some dance classes, because she seemed to know what she was doing. He watched as she balanced on one foot, leaning forward until her left leg was almost vertical, placed her hands on the floor, and went into a handstand. She flipped over, spreading her legs into a split as she did so, and when she was once again standing upright, she went directly into a series of pirouettes that left Malcolm feeling dizzy just from watching.

She stretched upwards, standing on the very tips of her toes, her arms extended above her head, waving slowly from side to side. Her movements were eloquent, flowing, and each seemed to blend into the next, almost as if it were a choreographed dance she had learned years ago and performed until it was ingrained permanently into her memory. There was nothing spontaneous about this dance.

He watched her until the music faded, and even though he knew she had probably realized he was there, he was still surprised when she asked, "Enjoy the show?" without turning to face him.

He blinked several times as the reality of what he was seeing hit him full force. He had never before seen Kamea in any state of undress. During the day, she wore jeans and a ratty old shirt – generally a button-down – and at night, when they sparred, she wore her catsuits. But what she had on now, it was obvious that she had attempted to go to sleep and been unable to do so. She was wearing a pair of gray pajama pants that sat just below her hips and a tight blue T-shirt that clung to her body in all the right places and barely covered her navel, so that a thin line of skin was visible on her stomach.

He instinctively fought his body's reaction to her appearance. "I didn't know you could dance."

She turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

That was true. He'd told himself as much. But it didn't stop him from dreaming about her, from wanting to feel her pressed against him. It was lonely in space.

"So," he said, desperate to prevent things from getting too intense, "you can dance, you can fight, you can rebuild an engine from memory… Is there anything you can't do?"

She looked pensive for a moment, as though seriously considering it. The tip of her tongue poked out between her lips, which Malcolm had learned was a sure sign that she was lost in thought. But the sight of her doing that always sent the blood rushing south, and this time was no exception. Finally she leveled her eyes at him. "Bring people back from the dead."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "I meant something feasible. It's not possible to bring back the dead."

Kamea pursed her lips. "Maintain a healthy relationship."

He looked up at her in shock. They were fast delving into a topic of conversation that he didn't think he'd be able to handle. "Well, who can?"

She shook her head. "It's my mother's fault, really. The way she described her attraction to my father. I've spent my entire life searching for that same kind of connection. If I don't feel it, I don't stay in a relationship."

Malcolm swallowed hard, wondering if she felt the same thing between them that he did. It couldn't be just him. This was way too intense. "So then…you've never felt it?"

She stared at him, her eyes boring into him, and – not for the first time – he got the feeling that she could see directly into his soul. "I'll get back to you."

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. When she looked at him like that, it took every bit of self-control he possessed not to pounce on her. "You didn't feel up for a spar tonight?"

She collapsed onto the floor and began to warm down, spreading her legs as far apart as they would go, which unfortunately did not help Malcolm's situation any. "I had a bad day," she said. "I was afraid that, if we sparred tonight, I might accidentally kill you."

Malcolm's stomach suddenly turned to ice, but he forced a laugh. However, she didn't look like she was joking. "Has that ever happened before?"

"No. But it could. I can't always control my abilities." She leaned forward until her stomach was touching the floor, but her legs were still spread out behind her, and Malcolm couldn't help wondering if she could get into those positions for things other then stretching. "So I thought I'd opt for another form of tension release." She looked up at him, and he forced himself to look her in the eye, instead of where he had been looking. "I hope you don't mind."

Malcolm was all too willing to suggest yet another way to release tension, but he wisely said nothing. He also stayed exactly where he was, afraid that if he took even one step closer to her, his self-control would vanish. "Not at all. But unfortunately, you've now robbed me of my daily workout."

She pushed herself into a seated position and curled her legs underneath her. "You'll survive."

"So…your day…" Malcolm said, only because he felt he had to say something, or he would just stare at her. "Anything I can help you with?"

Kamea shook her head and stood, stretching her arms above her head, which caused her shirt to ride up, revealing even more of her stomach. "Highly doubtful. It's T'Pol. She doesn't like me very much."

Malcolm averted his eyes, staring at the wall directly behind Kamea, so as not to be tempted. "I wouldn't worry about that. She didn't like anybody very much for quite some time. It wasn't until we were in the expanse that she really started to open up, so to speak."

Kamea sighed, and Malcolm glanced back at her. "I'm used to people not liking me," she said. "But never family."

He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he was afraid that if he got any closer to her, it would turn into something else. So he kept his feet rooted to the spot and screwed his face into what he hoped was a sympathetic expression. "You'll win her over, eventually."

Kamea threw him a pained expression. "'Eventually' being the operative word."

She began walking towards the door, which was the last thing Malcolm wanted. "Going to bed?"

Kamea stopped and stared at him. "No. I was going to go to the ship's library. The captain's old logs are surprisingly entertaining." She gave him a weak smile and headed for the door again, but she stopped just as she reached it and turned to face him. "I also can't cook."

Then she was gone.

Malcolm's breathing became more and more erratic, now that Kamea was not there to force him to control himself. He had to do something – hit something, break something, pummel something – before he exploded. Damn Kamea. How the hell did she do this to him?

* * *

**A/N: It isn't my intention to make Kamea perfect, but keep in mind that there are people who are good at lots of things (I hate them). Like I have a friend who plays the guitar and trumpet, can sing, has a black belt in karate, and is really really smart. He was also the president of everything he was in. My intention is to show that Kamea is just a normal person, and normal people can do things like dance (not me, but some people).**


	12. Cold Lunch

Hoshi scanned the mess hall, searching for an empty spot, and her eyes came to rest on a table in the back corner, where an unlikely trio sat eating.

Kamea was sandwiched between Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed, apparently in the midst of telling a very amusing story. Malcolm snorted into his coffee, and Trip choked on whatever he'd been chewing at that moment. Hoshi cocked her head to the side and watched them for a bit. She liked to study people, and she considered herself an expert at reading expressions and tone. She hadn't had much of an opportunity to observe Kamea, since the girl kept to herself most of the time, but now seemed as good a time as any. Hoshi made her way over to the table.

"If you had seen his face," Kamea was saying when Hoshi approached, "when he walked into his office the next morning and the cow was eating his prized fern. I wish I'd had a camera."

Both men burst into another fit of laughter, and Hoshi wished she'd heard the rest of the story.

Kamea dug into her bowl of pasta salad. She was smiling and looked to be on the verge of giggles herself. "And the best part is, they had to cut a hole in the side of the building and use a crane to get the cow out, because cows can go up stairs, but they can't go down them."

Malcolm nearly spit out his mouthful of coffee. "And of course you knew that."

"Why do you think I suggested it in the first place?" Kamea asked, with an amused twinkle in her eye.

Trip was laughing so hard he was crying. He pounded on the table a couple of times and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Oh, my God, I can't believe you did that."

Kamea shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, he deserved it – purposely marking me down just because I was half-Vulcan. But it served another purpose, too. It certainly made the other students reevaluate their opinions of me." She looked up at met Hoshi's gaze. "Good afternoon, Ensign Sato."

Malcolm and Trip looked up, apparently noticing Hoshi for the first time. They certainly seemed engrossed in Kamea's story. It was intriguing. Hoshi had never known a Vulcan to be entertaining – on purpose. She couldn't remember the last time T'Pol had even told a story.

Trip grinned. "Hey, Hoshi."

Hoshi smiled and used her head to gesture at the empty chair. "May I join you?"

Malcolm nodded. "By all means." He leaned forward and pushed the chair away from the table, allowing Hoshi to drop into it.

"What was so funny?" Hoshi asked, dipping her spoon into her pudding. She liked to eat dessert first. She glanced at Kamea, who was regarding her with a look of appraisal.

Kamea cleared her throat. "I was just telling Trip and Malcolm about a prank I pulled on the dean of engineering back at MIT."

Hoshi's eyes widened, seemingly of their own accord. Perhaps it was because she hadn't expected that Kamea had actually led some semblance of a normal life. Perhaps it was because the young girl had addressed the commander and the lieutenant with such familiarity, as if she'd known them for years. Perhaps it was because she never expected anyone who was half-Vulcan to have a sense of humor or do anything against the rules. "You went to college?"

Kamea cocked an eyebrow. "Of course." She didn't seem the least bit offended. "I intended to join Starfleet, but I wasn't accepted."

She said it with such nonchalance that Hoshi was surprised. "I'm sorry," she said automatically.

Kamea shrugged again. "It's of no consequence. Although, I believe that, had I been accepted, we could be at warp six or even seven by now." She paused, staring at a spot on the table, before meeting Hoshi's eyes again. "Not that I'm bitter."

Hoshi sensed that they were about to stray into uncomfortable territory and decided to change the subject. "So, Commander, I understand that you're starting movie night up again."

Kamea immediately perked up. "Movie night?"

Trip nodded, using his finger to clean the last of his pudding out of his bowl. "Yep. Figured it'd do us some good to get back to almost normal." He set his bowl down with a clunk. "Tonight, 1900 hours." He turned to Kamea. "You gonna come?"

Kamea furrowed her brow. "What were you planning on showing?"

"_West Side Story_."

Hoshi raised an eyebrow and caught Malcolm's eye. He shrugged, and she assumed that he was thinking along a similar line as her. What had prompted Commander Tucker to chose that movie? He usually liked the old black-and-white films that had some kind of adventure. He rarely ever chose a romantic film, much less a musical.

Trip must have seen Hoshi's surprised look, because he smiled and said, "Well, don't look so shocked, Hoshi."

She felt her face dissolve into a grin. "I just assumed we'd be watching something like, I don't know, _Die Hard_."

"I like _Die Hard_," Malcolm said.

Malcolm liked any movies where stuff blew up, so Hoshi wasn't shocked by that almighty revelation. "Somehow, Lieutenant, that doesn't surprise me."

Kamea glanced at something over Hoshi's shoulder but flicked her eyes just as quickly back to her tablemates. "Isn't _West Side Story_ based on 'Romeo and Juliet'?" she asked, taking another bite of pasta salad.

Trip nodded, now draining the rest of his coffee. Hoshi noted that he looked uncomfortable. "Loosely. There's a lot of differences, but the basic plot's the same."

"I always thought it was a depressing plot for a musical," Hoshi said. "Musicals are supposed to be happy."

"There are quite a few musicals that don't have happy endings," Kamea said, reaching for her tea. "The ending of _Fiddler on the Roof_ could hardly be considered happy, and I never did like the way _My Fair Lady_ ended."

Hoshi's jaw dropped. She wasn't sure if it was because a Vulcan had admitted to watching musicals or because she actually had an opinion on them. "But Professor Higgins and Eliza ended up together."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean they should be together. I mean, he treated her, essentially, like crap. He only realized what she meant to him after she was gone, and I don't think Eliza had that much self-esteem, to return to a guy like that. She could have been with a guy that really loved her, not someone who was just accustomed to her face."

Trip smiled, but Hoshi could tell that it was forced. It didn't quite touch his eyes. "There are a lot of women who are with men they shouldn't be with," he said.

Kamea cocked her head to the side. "I like to think we come to our senses eventually."

Malcolm cleared his throat, and Kamea looked at him. "Speaking from personal experience?"

Kamea licked her lips, and Hoshi saw that Malcolm's eyes were riveted on the gesture. "Let's just say I've made mistakes in the relationship department before."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Hoshi had to hide a grin. So Malcolm had a crush on the ship's newest arrival. And, from the looks of it, the feeling was mutual. Hoshi leaned forward on her elbows, her lunch entirely forgotten. The conversation was getting too good to let the opportunity to learn about the girl's exploits pass by. "Do tell."

Kamea's eyes widened a little, and she immediately became uncomfortable. "I'd rather not discuss it, if that's all right," she said, rather haltingly. "It's not something I care to relive." She cleared her throat. "Besides, I think Professor Higgins was gay."

Malcolm spat out a mouthful of coffee, and Trip choked on his pasta. Hoshi couldn't help but giggle at their reaction. She turned to Kamea. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, come on," Kamea said, with a slight roll of her eyes. "Isn't it obvious? 'Why can't a woman be more like a man?' And he did spend an inordinate amount of time with Colonel Pickering."

"Bollocks," Malcolm said, probably a little more harshly than he intended. Hoshi raised an eyebrow; it was the first time she'd ever heard Malcolm swear. "Commander Tucker and I spend a lot of time together, and it doesn't make us gay."

Kamea and Hoshi exchanged an amused glance, and Hoshi could see why Malcolm and Trip liked her so much. She was definitely fun to be around, and she'd brought something on board with her that had been decidedly absent during their time in the expanse: laughter. Hoshi sat back, tapping her lips with her finger, pretending to seriously ponder Malcolm's statement. "I don't know about that, Lieutenant," she said, while Kamea attempted to stifle her laughter. "At least the commander has been with a woman in the past few years. Can't say the same for you."

Malcolm sputtered indignantly, which caused both women at the table to burst into a prolonged fit of laughter, which was only stopped by the sound of a throat being cleared behind Hoshi.

T'Pol had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and Hoshi should have guessed that it would be her. Only T'Pol could make a throat-clearing sound so angry. Hoshi swallowed her giggles and smiled up at the commander. "Afternoon, Commander. Would you care to join us?"

T'Pol's eyes came to rest on Kamea and darkened, and Hoshi wished that she wasn't sitting between the two of them. "I think not, Ensign," T'Pol said. "I must say that I do not approve of your choice of dining companions."

Kamea didn't bat an eye, simply leaning over to Malcolm and saying, in a very loud whisper, "Are you going to stand for that?"

T'Pol was not amused, especially when it became clear that Trip was bent double in an attempt to not start laughing. T'Pol leaned forward, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. Hoshi instinctively scooted out of the way. "It is bad enough that you have managed to corrupt Commander Tucker," T'Pol said, "but I will not allow you to extend your influence over Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato."

The glint in Kamea's eyes had vanished, replaced by a hardness that surprised Hoshi. Trip started to say something, but Kamea interrupted him before he could get much out. "Tell me, Commander, are all Vulcans extremely paranoid, or is it just you?"

"Do not presume to believe that this is a permanent arrangement." T'Pol's voice was eerily calm, but Hoshi could detect the trace hint of thinly veiled fury. "The only reason that Captain Archer asked you to remain is because he feels responsible for the status of your ship. Once you have reconstructed it, he will surely ask you to leave."

Kamea's eyes narrowed to angry slits, and Hoshi could almost feel the tension between the two. It was radiating off both Vulcans like a sidewalk emitted heat on a summer day. Whoever said that Vulcans had no emotions had obviously never sat between two that disliked each other. "I'll just get back to it then," Kamea said, standing. "I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome."

T'Pol straightened, folding her arms defiantly across her chest. "I'm afraid it is too late for that."

Hoshi could see the muscles in Kamea's jaw twitch and wondered exactly how much self-control the half-Vulcan had. Perhaps she would move to hit T'Pol – according to Malcolm, she was an excellent fighter. But Kamea only said, "_Ponfo mirann_," in a voice that could only be described as a snarl. Then she stalked away.

Hoshi quickly glanced up to catch T'Pol's reaction to the Vulcan expletive, but as usual, the commander gave none. She simply turned and walked away, leaving the other three staring after her with similar expressions of slack-jawed surprise.

As soon as T'Pol was out of earshot – even for a Vulcan – Malcolm and Trip eagerly turned to Hoshi. "What did she say?" Trip asked.

Hoshi took a deep breath, unsure if she wanted to join the fray that was obviously in its beginning stages. "I'd rather not translate it," she said, though she knew exactly what Kamea had said and had said it to T'Pol once herself – all the way back on their first mission. "It's…not very nice."

Trip shook his head in amazement, gazing in the direction that T'Pol had gone. "I don't know what's got into her lately. She hasn't been this judgmental for a long time. She isn't even givin' Kamea a chance."

Hoshi shrugged and returned to her mostly untouched meal. "She's threatened. She's afraid that she's going to be replaced."

Malcolm snorted. "That's ridiculous. T'Pol is a Vulcan. Vulcans don't get threatened."

"I should go talk to her," Trip said, standing – a little too quickly. He gathered up his empty plate and mug and hurried off. Hoshi raised her eyebrows again. She'd heard the rumors of Trip and T'Pol's relationship, and in truth had suspected the same for quite some time. Their joint visit to Vulcan had only further convinced her that there was more to those two than meets the eye. But when Trip had come back early, and T'Pol had returned to _Enterprise_ a married woman, Hoshi began to suspect that she'd been wrong. Seeing Trip's reaction, however, changed her mind.

To Hoshi's dismay, Malcolm also stood and grabbed his unfinished lunch. "I should probably go talk to Kamea," he said. "If she doesn't calm down soon, she's likely to blow something up." He paused, throwing Hoshi a wink. "Be a pity if I wasn't there to see it."

Hoshi sighed and speared a noodle with her fork. "Why do I always end up sitting alone?"

* * *

**A/N: Told you that Romeo and Juliet would come up later. Besides, I just like _West Side Story_, and I had a really cool idea for a chapter where they're watching that, which is coming up next, as soon as I write it.**

**I don't know what _ponfo mirann _literallymeans - it isn't translated at the Vulcan Language Dictionary, just that it's an expletive. But I'm guessing it's like the Vulcan equivalent of "f- you". And Hoshi does say it to T'Pol in "Broken Bow", which is where I got it from. I thought it would be appropriate (and I can't find the translation for any Hawaiian swear words except "damn", and I didn't think that was strong enough for this situation).**

**I don't like the way_ My Fair Lady_ ends. I like the way the play ("Pygmalion") ended better.**

**Got the idea for the cow in the office from one of my sorority sisters, who told me a story about how they were planning to put a cow on the second floor of their high school for their senior prank, because apparently cows can go up stairs but not down. I thought it was funny, so I decided to use it.**

**By the way, I do reference stuff that happened in my fic "Just As It Should Be", so if y'ins have free time and want to give that a read, go right ahead. I won't be stopping you. (It isn't necessary, since this is AU, but it talks about Trip and T'Pol's trip to Vulcan, and I mention stuff that happened. Like the whole Romeo and Juliet thing, and other stuff.)**


	13. Movie Night

**A/N: And now, movie night! I had to work this in, just because of the whole thing at the end with the song. That popped into my head a while back, and I just had to do it.**

**Oh, by the way, if any of you have never seen _West Side Story_, I kind of spoil the ending a bit. A bit.**

* * *

Trip should have been suspicious when T'Pol showed up to movie night. She almost never came, save for a few times, and he had begun to view it as a metaphor for their relationship. He would attempt to convince her to come while never actually coming out and asking her, and she would refuse, only to show up later – with the captain. Well, that had only happened once, but the thought still pissed Trip off. How had Archer managed to rope her into coming?

_He probably asked her, you idiot,_ he told himself._ She might have come with you if you had just asked her. But no, you had to be a smartass about it._

But here she was, seated directly beside him, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was watching the screen, but Trip stole occasional glances at her expressionless face and caught her eyes flicking to Kamea, who sat at the end of the row directly in front of them, next to Hoshi.

So that was it. She was keeping an eye on Kamea. Which was why Trip knew he should have thought it suspicious that she'd showed. And for the briefest of moments, he'd entertained the idea that she was actually admitting that there was something between them.

Trip had tried to talk to T'Pol after her argument with Kamea in the mess earlier that day, but T'Pol had brushed off his concern and refused to acknowledge that anything out of the ordinary had happened. But Trip knew better. He could tell that T'Pol was torn up about something. He couldn't quite explain how he knew; being around her was uncomfortable – he would get tense and frustrated, even if he wasn't feeling that way, and his stomach would get all tied up in knots. At first he thought it was just their situation, but now he suspected that it was something akin to sympathy pains. It was awkward being around her, to be sure, but it didn't always make him tense – and yet he always felt that way. It was almost as if he could feel what she was feeling – and Hoshi was right. T'Pol viewed Kamea's continued presence aboard _Enterprise_ as a threat. And she needn't bother. She could never be replaced.

T'Pol turned her head sharply and caught him staring. He smiled encouragingly at her and returned his attention to the screen just in time to witness the knife fight between the Jets and the Sharks. The usual tittering in the audience was gone as all eyes were riveted to the screen. When the leader of the Jets – Trip couldn't remember his name, as he hadn't been paying all that much attention to the movie – was stabbed, an agonized cry echoed through the suddenly silent room, as though someone had actually been stabbed.

All eyes turned toward the source of the sound – Kamea, who had covered her mouth with her hands and was staring at the screen with wide eyes, as though unable to believe what she was seeing. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Hoshi tentatively put an arm around her shoulders, drawing the unresponsive girl into a one-armed hug. T'Pol gave a disgusted snort – probably at Kamea's outright display of emotion over a movie – and turned back to the screen. Trip couldn't help but wonder what the hell that was all about. Why would Kamea get all bent out of shape over a movie – especially one that she had apparently seen before?

When the movie ended, and the lights came on, Trip saw that every woman in the audience was sniffling and dabbing her eyes with a tissue – except T'Pol. That was to be expected, but it would've been nice if she'd teared up. After all, Trip had specifically chosen _West Side Story_ because of its similarity to their situation. She could have at least acknowledged that.

The crowd began to file out of the mess, talking animatedly among themselves. Trip smiled in satisfaction; he'd known that restarting movie night would be just what the crew needed.

"Explain something to me, Commander," T'Pol said, once most of the crew had left.

Trip raised his eyebrows. Was T'Pol about to offer her opinion on the movie without his asking for it? Would wonders never cease? "Shoot, T'Pol."

She turned to face him. "Why is it that humans are so obsessed with such tragic stories?"

Okay. Not exactly what he'd been expecting, but it was still something. "What do you mean?"

She lifted a delicate eyebrow and gestured to the now blank screen. "This film was based on the play 'Romeo and Juliet', correct?" Trip nodded, and T'Pol continued. "Why does your species feel the need to recreate such a tragic story? Why not, as Ensign Sato suggested, have a happy ending?"

Trip's eyes widened. Just how long had she been listening to their lunchtime conversation before revealing herself? He sighed, wondering if she was equating the movie's tragic ending to their own failed relationship, as he'd hoped that she would. "It's the idea of love conquerin' all. People like to think that if you love someone enough, nothing else matters. Tony and Maria didn't care that they were different races or from rival gangs. All that mattered to them was that they loved each other."

_Too bad that doesn't apply to us,_ he thought bitterly.

"But their love did not, as you say, conquer all," T'Pol said. "Tony was killed. Their love could not overcome the hatred between the gangs."

Trip nodded patiently, relishing the thought that they were back on familiar ground. "True, but at the end, did you notice how both gangs united to carry Tony's body away? It leaves you hopeful that maybe Tony's death and his and Maria's love for each other had an impact on the others."

"Yes," T'Pol said, and Trip could tell that she was getting frustrated, "but why are there such stories in the first place? If humans wish to see a triumphant tale of love overcoming all obstacles, why aren't all romantic movies like the fairy tales that you've told me about?"

He looked at her, sadness gripping his chest so tightly that he feared it would cut off his air. "Because not all love stories are fairy tales. They don't all have happy endings."

_Just look at us_, he thought, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say it, but he held back. There were still people in the room with them, and the last thing he wanted was to once again be part of the ship's rumor mill. The rumors about him and T'Pol had finally died down. He suspected her marriage had something to do with that.

T'Pol stared at him, and there was something reflected in the liquid depths of her eyes, but Trip was afraid to name it for fear that he was wrong. Then she straightened almost imperceptibly and said, "I find this genre of film to be highly illogical."

He couldn't help but smile at that. "And why is that, T'Pol?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You would never see a Vulcan spontaneously burst into song." She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Trip supposed that it was. Vulcans weren't exactly known for their lightheartedness.

Kamea chose that moment to walk by, humming softly to herself. She did a pirouette, spinning so that she faced Hoshi, and began to sing.

"_Good night, good night_

_Sleep well, and when you dream_

_Dream of me_

_Good night_"

Hoshi giggled and held out her hand. Kamea grabbed it, and the two girls proceeded to twirl each other around, singing "Tonight" the entire time. They ended the song with Kamea lowering Hoshi into a dip, and both girls were laughing as they stood up.

Trip turned to T'Pol, who stared at the two women in stunned silence. He bit back a smile. "I'd say you've just been contradicted."

T'Pol crossed her arms, and he recognized the gesture. She was not happy. "I believe I have been validated." She stood up abruptly, pushing her chair away as she did. "Good night, Commander." She walked briskly out of the mess hall, not even acknowledging Hoshi and Kamea as she brushed past them.

Trip sighed and walked over to the two women. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he asked Kamea.

She looked at him, her face impassive. "Did what?" she asked, all innocence.

"You shouldn't go around purposely antagonizin' her like that."

Kamea cocked an eyebrow. "Commander Tucker, if I wanted to purposely antagonize her, I could think of better ways to do it." She paused. "And are you telling me that you've never tried to push her buttons just to get a rise out of her?"

Trip shook his head, feeling the need to defend T'Pol's actions. "She's just gotta get used to the idea of you bein' on board, is all." He purposely ignored the latter half of Kamea's statement, because it wouldn't help matters any to admit that he'd spent pretty much half of their mission rubbing T'Pol the wrong way.

The muscles in Kamea's jaw tightened. "She's doing such a good job of it so far. Good night, Trip."

She and Hoshi left the mess, and Trip resisted the sudden urge to kick his chair away from him. Why did he feel like he was in the middle of this fight?


	14. Eavesdropping

**A/N: Keep in mind while reading this chapter that (as I have often said) I am not an engineer. I hope I don't sound too ridiculous during that part.**

**Oh, and _I could never love again so much as I love you_ is the property of the Dave Matthews Band and not me. Sad, but true.**

* * *

T'Pol opened her eyes, frustrated beyond all reason. She had been in a state of meditation for several hours, but found herself unable to concentrate. There was so much on her mind that it was nearly impossible for her to clear it and focus on feeling calm. When she wasn't thinking of Trip, she thought of Kamea and her seemingly impossible tale. But even though T'Pol didn't want to believe it, she knew, deep in the pit of her stomach, that Kamea was telling the truth. It was the logical conclusion. After all, Kamea had known about T'Mir and her "adventure" at Carbon Creek. T'Pol also couldn't argue with Phlox's medical evidence, and the picture she had found among Kamea's belongings verified that fact.

She had never met her uncle. Lorian had been banished from Vulcan years before T'Pol's birth, but her parents used to discuss T'Les's wayward brother when they thought that T'Pol was out of earshot. T'Les had been furious over her brother's actions; he had brought shame upon the entire family. She ignored his communiqués every time he tried to contact her; she destroyed anything that bore his image, but T'Pol had managed to save one solitary photograph.

T'Pol went to her shelf and pulled out her copy of _Reflections_, a work of Vulcan poetry. She shook the book until the photo fell from the pages. There was her uncle, a mirror image of the man in the picture from Kamea's trunk.

No Vulcan could have ever imagined that Lorian would have children with his human wife. It had never happened before. It had been deemed impossible. But the proof now resided on _Enterprise_, just a deck above where T'Pol stood. Kamea was a female version of Lorian. Especially the eyes. It was the eyes T'Pol remembered most vividly; never before had she seen a Vulcan with blue eyes.

Thinking of her uncle made her think of the other Lorian – her son with Trip. She hadn't wanted to believe that either, but part of her had secretly been thrilled at the prospect of having a family with Trip. That same part had been disappointed to learn that they hadn't had more children. Lorian's arrival had forced her to admit that the Trellium hadn't induced what she felt for Trip; it had merely served as a catalyst to bring those suppressed emotions to the surface.

In truth, she had been attracted to Trip for some time. If she forced herself to admit it, she would have to say that it had all started the first day they met. The attraction had grown the first time they got into an argument. It kept growing until she not only enjoyed but looked forward to their verbal sparring matches, until their arguments changed from petty bickering to playful bantering, until she realized that she was not as comfortable with anyone else aboard _Enterprise_ as she was with Trip. Whereas much of the year before she had spent most of her time with the captain, during their time in the expanse she spent a majority of her time with Trip. She welcomed the change; Captain Archer was only slowly overcoming his deep-seated prejudice toward the Vulcan people, but Commander Tucker had long ago realized that one shouldn't judge an entire population based on the actions of a few.

Neuro-pressure sessions had advanced that level of comfort. Trellium enhanced it. So much so that she could no longer control the emotions Trip evoked while in his presence. She had eventually succumbed to them and effectively seduced him. Afterwards, she told him it was simply an exploration of human sexuality – which was true, to a degree – but really, she had been staking her claim. The thought of another woman having what was rightfully hers had caused T'Pol's baser instincts to take effect before she could stifle them.

It was a well-guarded secret that Vulcans were touch-telepaths, which was one reason she had initially argued against teaching the techniques of neuro-pressure to Trip. She had not expected to be able to have the same type of contact with a human, but she had attributed that to the primitive structure of the human mind, which was not as orderly and controlled as a Vulcan's. The beginnings of the bond formed by their neuro-pressure sessions had been strengthened due to their physical intimacy, which had increased in frequency on their trip to Vulcan, so that now they were both marked indelibly by the other – though only T'Pol knew of its existence.

She had hoped to keep the bond a secret and so far had managed to do just that. Not even Trip knew what exactly had transpired between them. But Kamea's comments at breakfast the other day had shattered T'Pol's sense of secrecy. How could the girl possibly know about T'Pol's relationship with Trip? No one but the two of them knew the extent to which their relationship had progressed, and T'Pol knew that Trip would never say anything to Kamea.

Meditation ultimately forgotten, T'Pol ventured over to her computer. If the captain and Phlox had been able to call up Kamea's records, then so could T'Pol. It would answer some of her questions that she was too embarrassed to ask.

Kamea's records weren't as difficult to access as T'Pol had anticipated. For some reason, T'Pol had been expecting to have to hack her way through government files in order to find the information she desired, but it seemed Kamea had been correct in stating that the government didn't believe her to be a hybrid. In fact, she was listed in the database as being human. T'Pol continued searching until she found the copy of Kamea's birth certificate that the captain had mentioned. There, on the bottom, was her uncle's signature. T'Pol's eyes drifted upwards to the date on the top, and she was surprised to learn that her cousin was only seven years younger than she was.

T'Pol abruptly left her quarters and began to aimlessly wander the corridors. Her shift on the bridge had finished hours ago, and it was nearly time for supper, but she was not hungry. She needed to talk to someone, and, given recent events, there was really only one person on _Enterprise_ to whom she could go. She headed for sickbay.

Phlox was thoroughly engrossed with a PADD when she entered and did not acknowledge her until she was directly beside him. "Commander," he said, nodding at her. But he did not put down the PADD.

"What is so interesting?" she asked, glancing around sickbay. They were alone.

"Kamea dropped this off days ago," Phlox said, still entranced. "It's her father's notes on his experiments. It's fascinating. Her father was really quite brilliant." He looked at her for the first time. "Did you know that, in addition to successfully combining human and Vulcan genomes, he also found a way to increase a human's life span?"

T'Pol fought to keep emotion from her voice. It was difficult – more difficult than it would have been had she not used Trellium-D.

"Indeed?" The difference in their life spans was one of the major reasons T'Pol had been unwilling to have an intimate relationship with Trip. She did not want to become involved with him if he was going to die in forty or fifty years and leave her alone for the next hundred. But it was pointless now; she was bound to him, and when he died, a part of her would die as well.

"According to her father, he was only willing to share the procedure with mixed couples," Phlox said. "Apparently, he thought that it would severely alter human evolution if it was widely known. An astute observation on his part. Simply amazing." He put down the PADD and turned to her. "What brings you to sickbay, Commander?"

He sounded concerned, which T'Pol attributed to her condition. But the treatments for the Pa'nar syndrome were going well, and since she had been avoiding Trip she had not experienced any emotional surges. "I wanted to ask you a few questions. About Kamea." She tried to make it sound casual.

Phlox smiled and walked over to the table full of chinkara plants that she and Malcolm had collected during their visit to the M-class planet Bulzama before Kamea's appearance. Phlox had been conducting experiments on them ever since. "I thought you might," he said. "She's a very interesting young girl. She recognized the chinkara plant immediately. You know, it took me several tests before I was able to determine – "

"She's hardly young," T'Pol said, crossing her arms. "She's almost sixty years old." T'Pol had no idea why she was so upset with Kamea's arrival.

No, that wasn't true. Kamea's very presence irritated T'Pol because the girl had so much in common with Trip that the two of them have formed a close relationship almost instantaneously. It had taken T'Pol years to get close to Trip, and Kamea had managed the feat in a matter of days. Also, Kamea challenged and questioned the views and ideas that T'Pol had believed basically from birth, and she seemed to do so only to infuriate T'Pol – there could be no other logical explanation.

"You figured out her age," Phlox said. It wasn't a question.

T'Pol nodded. "You aren't the only one who can access medical records, Doctor."

Phlox raised his eyebrows. "Commander, I didn't expect you to be so duplicitous."

T'Pol resisted the urge to avert her eyes. "I wanted confirmation that she is who she claims to be. Since my uncle's name is on the birth certificate – "

"Ah, she said you probably didn't remember her father. You've never mentioned it before." He paused to water the chinkara plants. "Or the fact that his name was Lorian."

This time she did avoid his gaze. "My mother was so furious that she forbade my father to speak of him. It was as if he had never existed." She picked up the PADD. "So then she is telling the truth?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes. Her father was quite the scientist. According to his notes, his ultimate goal was a better relationship between humans and Vulcans. He dedicated his life to it, even after the way he was treated by his own people. And to think, everything he went through was for the love of a woman. It's very romantic, when you think about it, hmmm?"

T'Pol swallowed, remembering her earlier conversation with Trip about courage, and Kamea's declaration about 'Romeo and Juliet'. If given the choice to wed all over again, would T'Pol have made the same decision? "Very." She sighed. "Do you know where I might find Kamea?"

Phlox cocked his head to the side. "You might want to try engineering. She and Commander Tucker seem to be attached at the hip."

It was difficult to fight the angry flush that rose in her cheeks, so she turned away before Phlox could see. "I will start there, then. Thank you, Doctor."

She left sickbay and went directly to engineering. She picked her way through the now familiar maze that was the engine room, but stopped short when she heard Trip's voice.

"How long are ya plannin' on holdin' that position?" T'Pol narrowed her eyes. What was he talking about?

Kamea's voice answered him. "Well, I could get done a lot faster if you weren't constantly interrupting me."

T'Pol felt her stomach turn to fire – the all-too familiar feeling of jealousy. Where was the rest of Trip's crew? What were the two of them doing, alone in the bowels of the ship?

"Interruptin' is what I do best. Ask anyone."

"I'll take that into consideration."

T'Pol crept forward, inching her way among the machines until she could see Trip and Kamea. Kamea hung by her legs from a pipe in the ceiling, obviously trying to get at something high up on the engine. Trip stood below her, handing her various tools. T'Pol chastised herself for jumping to conclusions; it was illogical. She often told Trip to look at things objectively, and here she was ready to believe the worst about both of them because of a few sentences taken entirely out of context. Besides, what right did she have to become jealous of the commander's romantic entanglements? She was married to another man; did she seriously expect him to wait for her marriage to dissolve?

The answer came unbidden. Yes. She had. He'd declared his intention to do so the night before the ceremony. _"I could never love again so much as I love you, T'Pol. I will wait for you."_ So now why did she doubt his feelings toward her?

"These conduits are fried," Kamea said. She allowed herself to drop down and reached for the tools in Trip's arms. "Hand me the soldering iron. I'll see if I can repair this damage while I'm up here."

Trip handed her the appropriate tool, and she hauled herself back up onto the pipe. He looked as though he was anxious to climb up onto the pipe and conduct the repairs himself. T'Pol was surprised that he hadn't done so already. He was very territorial about _Enterprise's_ engines. "Any sign of a breach in the plasma flow?"

Kamea's response was muffled, as she was buried in engine parts. "That would be a negative. Indication of massive corrosion, though. When was the last time these conduits were repaired?"

Trip leaned against the warp drive. "Should've been replaced months ago. After our mission in the expanse, _Enterprise_ got refitted. Complete overhaul. That was back in March."

"Well, someone didn't do their job."

Trip glanced up. He looked furious, and T'Pol knew that was because he had wanted to be present during the refit, but Captain Archer had practically ordered him off the ship. So he had accompanied her to Vulcan instead. "Whaddaya think? Should we reinforce the outer tubin'?"

Kamea's arm appeared, holding the soldering iron. Trip stretched up to grab it from her. "That would be my recommendation. I read about your engineering problems during your time the expanse. I think it's safe to say that this corrosion is the reason the engine exploded."

He snapped his head in her direction. T'Pol vividly remembered that accident. Seeing him comatose in sickbay, having to deal with his clone on a day-to-day basis… That was when she had first begun to acknowledge that her feelings for the commander were less than platonic. "How'd you know 'bout that?"

She pulled herself out of the engine and swung down. T'Pol was reminded of some Terran monkeys she had seen during a visit to the San Francisco zoo several years before. "It was in the logs. You were trying to obtain a perfect warp five, correct?" He nodded, and she shrugged, though the gesture looked odd, as she was hanging upside down. "You never know how much one seemingly insignificant part can affect the whole." She pointed at a specific tool. "Hand me that, will you?"

"Sure," he said, giving her the molecular welding torch. "You know, I'm not proud of that."

Kamea pulled herself back up and returned to her work. "You should be. It was a good theory. _Enterprise_ just lacks the proper structural components." There was a loud clang, and some mutterings that even T'Pol's sensitive ears could not make out. Then Kamea said, in a sharp voice, "_Kuamuamu_!" There was a sigh and Kamea said, much more calmly, "I hope I won't need that finger for a while."

"Are you all right?" Trip asked. He sounded concerned. T'Pol's cheeks flushed with anger, and she berated herself for it. She didn't understand why she was so upset. Of course he was concerned; that was the type of person that he was.

Kamea pulled her head out. "I'll live." She grabbed the pipe with both hands and slid her legs off, swinging violently down, then dropping to the floor with a thud. She turned to Trip. "I think I've got it."

"Do you really think we could get a perfect warp five?"

Kamea exhaled. "The engine isn't strong enough to meet the kind of demands you want to place on it. A perfect warp five in a ship only capable of reaching warp five is next to impossible."

"It's totally possible. If you take into account – "

She raised her eyebrows. "I never said it was impossible. I said it was next to impossible. There's a difference." She narrowed her eyes in thought, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips. "Perhaps if we strengthened the engine with polymerized titanium. It's difficult to come by but would suit our needs perfectly."

Trip nodded, as if he understood. "That could work. It's expensive, though. We probably couldn't afford to coat the whole shebang. What if we just reinforced parts of the engine?"

Kamea opened her mouth to speak but closed it abruptly. She looked like she was smelling the air. T'Pol ducked out of sight, afraid that she would be spotted. She crouched against the wall, remembering belatedly that Kamea was half-Vulcan, and therefore probably had the acute Vulcan senses.

"What's wrong?" Trip asked.

T'Pol heard the sound of walking, and Kamea suddenly appeared beside her. T'Pol glanced up, embarrassed that she had been caught eavesdropping. She had never intentionally done so before. It had happened, on occasion, because crewmembers sometimes forgot the excellent range of her hearing, but she had never purposely eavesdropped.

"Can I help you, Commander?" Kamea asked.

T'Pol stood. "I was looking for you," she said, trying to sound casual, as if she always hid behind engine parts listening to other people's conversations. "Phlox suggested I start here."

Kamea lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused, as Trip rounded a corner, having obviously followed the sound of their voices. "Then why hide in a corner?"

T'Pol struggled to keep from blushing. "You looked busy."

Trip smiled, obviously at T'Pol's discomfort, much like he had during the early days of the mission. She knew he could sense her discomfort the way she could sense his amusement. "You could've interrupted us. It's nothin' that couldn't've waited a few minutes."

"Besides," Kamea said, "Trip is more than capable of fixing the conduits on his own. I just happened to notice that they needed repairing while I was checking the bearings. Since I was already up there, it seemed the logical decision." She cocked her head. "Not that he didn't try to do it. I just wouldn't let him."

T'Pol felt the annoying stab of jealousy again. Had Kamea just called the commander "Trip"? She didn't even call him Trip anymore. She had, on their trip to Vulcan, but she called him "Commander" now. It was unprofessional to refer to him by his nickname while on duty, and given the level of intimacy with which Vulcans associated first names – especially nicknames – T'Pol didn't feel that it would be appropriate to call him anything else. Not as long as she was married to another. But sometimes she couldn't help herself; it just slipped out – like their conversation in the turbo lift.

She cleared her throat, struggling to regain her composure. "It is nothing important," she said as calmly as she could, though neither Trip nor Kamea looked convinced. "I simply wanted to talk to you."

Kamea's face was impassive. "About what?"

The last thing T'Pol wanted to do was talk to Kamea in front of Trip, but she couldn't ask Trip to leave engineering. She was the one intruding. "I thought perhaps you might like to join me for dinner."

Kamea raised both of her eyebrows, and T'Pol was pleased to note that she looked apprehensive. After all, T'Pol had barely been able to look her in the eye since her arrival. "Of course. I didn't realize it was so late." She nodded at Trip. "We were just working on some modifications."

"Modifications," T'Pol said. Why was she so jealous?

Trip nodded. "Kamea figured out what went wrong that time I tried to reduce field fluctuations. I thought maybe we could give it another try." He grimaced. "Though without the same endin'."

"I wouldn't want to interrupt you," T'Pol said, knowing the minute she spoke the words that they were a lie.

"No hurry," Trip said slowly, staring at T'Pol. She could sense his confusion through the bond. "Just a theory right now, after all. In fact, after last time, I think it's best if we take this slow. You two head on up to the mess hall. I'll be up in a few. I wanna check out the warp coils first."

He disappeared around the corner. T'Pol watched him until she could no longer see him, then turned back to Kamea, who was looking at T'Pol in amusement. "Shall we go the mess hall?" T'Pol asked in a very clipped voice.

The amused look never left Kamea's face. "By all means."


	15. An Understanding

T'Pol led the way to the mess hall, and the two didn't speak until both had gotten their meals – a traditional salad for T'Pol and fruit salad for Kamea – and seated themselves around a table in the farthest corner. Kamea offered to get their drinks and was gone before T'Pol could protest, but thankfully the girl returned with two mugs of chamomile tea. She sat down and the two women began to eat in uncomfortable silence.

Several minutes had gone by before Kamea spoke. "You wished to speak with me?"

Suddenly T'Pol's logic seemed flawed. Why had she wanted to speak to Kamea? She couldn't even remember any more. "You should not be so forthcoming with your information." Kamea raised an eyebrow, and T'Pol could sense that she was confused, so she continued. "Informing Commander Tucker of the existence of a cascading ion drive was – "

"Irrelevant," Kamea said, taking a bite of her fruit salad, "as the probability of developing such a drive without the proper equipment is virtually unfeasible, even for someone with Commander Tucker's abilities."

T'Pol bristled at the backhanded compliment, though she knew it to be true. Very few people were as capable as Trip. "Vulcans are a very private people. They don't appreciate disclosures of that nature."

"I know that, but I didn't realize I was breaking any rules by revealing the results of an experiment that was deemed a failure more than a century ago." She picked up a grape with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. "I shall review my handbook of what is considered un-Vulcan."

T'Pol ignored the sarcasm, though Kamea's response was dripping with it. "You are very open about your past." The crew of _Enterprise_ still knew very little about T'Pol, even though she had been on the ship for three years. Even Trip, who knew her better than anyone, wasn't privy to the more intimate aspects of her life. But Kamea seemed to have no problems detailing moments of her life to the others – notably the commander. In fact, she appeared to enjoy it.

Kamea tilted her head to the side. "I suppose I am. It must be a result of being back among humans. I can't explain it adequately, but even though I've only been on board a short time, I feel like…I belong here. Like I'm meant to be here." She looked pointedly at T'Pol. "Like it was _buk_."

T'Pol glanced up sharply at the use of the Vulcan word. "I was under the impression that you only knew a few words in Vulcan."

"My father only taught me a few words," Kamea said, engrossing herself with her fruit. "I took it upon myself to learn more." She chewed slowly, obviously thinking. Then she swallowed and said, "I find it is generally useful to learn more about your culture. You never know when it might be required."

"But when you were unconscious, you spoke in Hawaiian."

Kamea bit her bottom lip. "I talked in my sleep?" T'Pol nodded and Kamea groaned. "The captain said as much. I'd hoped he was kidding. I hope I said nothing that would disgrace my _'ohana_." T'Pol looked at Kamea with confusion. Kamea glanced up and coughed. "Sorry. _'Ohana_ means 'family' in Hawaiian."

T'Pol nodded. She didn't understand why Kamea would sometimes speak in English and sometimes speak in Hawaiian. T'Pol only spoke English in front of the other crewmembers. It was only logical, as only Ensign Sato and Phlox were able to speak Vulcan. "The words seem to come out of nowhere," she said.

Kamea lifted an eyebrow. "I'll admit that they tend to pop out when I'm not thinking." She returned to her fruit salad. "Usually, though, I use them when I'm referring to something for which I have great respect or affection. I also tend to swear in Hawaiian." She glanced at T'Pol, her fork poised halfway to her mouth. "But it surely not my choice of language that you wished to discuss."

T'Pol opened her mouth to speak but Kamea apparently had not finished. "Unless you wish to talk about my father."

"I am," T'Pol paused, considering her next word carefully, "curious."

Kamea looked at her. "Curious."

The action and the way she repeated her word reminded T'Pol so much of Trip that she felt the familiar pangs of jealousy once more creep into her stomach. But it was the same situation that it been with the MACO, Amanda Cole. Trip and Kamea got along so well because they had so much in common – that was all. Kamea had somehow uncovered the truth about Trip and T'Pol's relationship, and T'Pol trusted Trip enough to accept that he would never hurt her by cavorting with Kamea.

She cleared her throat. "Yes. Curious."

Kamea narrowed her eyes, as though scrutinizing T'Pol, then sighed and asked, "Anything in particular you wish to know?"

What she wanted to know was if she and Trip had any hope of a future together. She wanted validation that it was all right for her to have such powerful feelings for a human, when her entire life up until her assignment on _Enterprise_ had told her differently. She wanted to know if her decision to marry Koss had been based in logic, as she'd claimed, or in fear. T'Pol considered the question thoughtfully, figuring how best to word what she desperately wanted to know. "Were your parents…happy?"

If Kamea was surprised by the question, she didn't show it. She took a sip of her tea and said, "I believe so. Most Vulcans wouldn't recognize that they have the ability to be happy." She set down her mug. "I understand how powerful a Vulcan's emotions can be – I have them, too, you know – and that if you open yourself to them, you will be consumed by them." She traced the rim of the mug with her finger. "But if you close yourself off, you miss out on some pretty amazing things." She looked at T'Pol. "My father would have done anything for my mother. _'K'hat'n'dlawa'_ is what he called her. I wish one day I could be as happy as they were."

T'Pol could see the tears in Kamea's eyes and was on the verge of tears herself. She had not believed that a Vulcan could feel that way about a human, but that was how she felt about Commander Tucker. _K'hat'n'dlawa_ – that's what she'd called him on their trip to Vulcan. "He did not regret his decision, then?"

Kamea shook her head firmly. "Not for a minute. I think he regretted turning his back on his _'ohana_, but given the choice, he would have done it again. Of that I am certain." She looked away. "Love is a strong motivator, Commander."

"My mother does not believe that humans are mature enough to handle an interspecies relationship." She hadn't used those exact words, but that was the meaning T'Pol had inferred from the heated discussion with her mother before her wedding. T'Les had correctly deduced that T'Pol's hesitancy to bond with Koss was due to her feelings for Trip and had chastised her daughter for her illogical behavior. "I believe that she considers humans to be…beneath us."

Kamea snorted in response. "Many Vulcans have that attitude. Some will always have that attitude. But I like to think that, as years pass, the Vulcans will realize that humans are capable of more than they are given credit for." She picked up her mug and swirled the tea around. "Great things can come of a true human/Vulcan alliance. It may even happen in our lifetime."

"You do not consider an interspecies relationship to be illogical?" T'Pol asked, although she knew the answer.

"There were two logical conclusions at which my father could have arrived," Kamea said. "The first, and most obvious to other Vulcans, was to marry the woman to whom he was bonded and lead the life befitting of a typical Vulcan. His family would not have been dishonored, and he would have led a miserable life, separated from the woman he loved."

T'Pol had chosen that option, thinking it to be the only logical choice. She had chosen to do what was best for her family rather than herself and had allowed herself to enter into a sham marriage. She had no affection for Koss and knew that she would never develop any.

"The second was to marry my mother, the woman he loved. Yes, he would bring shame upon his family, but he would be happy. In the end, there was no question. What is the point of living almost two centuries if you're miserable for two-thirds of it?"

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or one," T'Pol said, quoting Surak. "Where is the logic in dishonoring your family?"

Kamea raised an eyebrow. "Where is the logic in marrying someone you do not love? It can be argued that his decision to wed my mother came from emotion and not logic. But his decision to assist his family would have had some basis in emotion as well. Logic will always be polluted by emotion, no matter how hard Vulcans try to suppress it."

T'Pol pressed forward as casually as she could. "But how can it be considered logical to marry a woman who would only live half of his life-span?"

"I assume Phlox told you about my father's experiments," Kamea said, and T'Pol could have sworn there was a twinkle in the younger woman's eye.

"He mentioned them," T'Pol said, reaching for her tea.

Kamea cocked her head to the side. "And you were curious?"

Her tone was amused and not mocking, but it irritated T'Pol all the same. She was making assumptions. "Yes. As a scientist, I find them quite interesting."

"As a scientist," Kamea said, unable to rid the skepticism from her voice. "Of course. Well, I suppose a scientist can appreciate my father's work, but the only people who can truly benefit from what my father discovered are those involved in interspecies relationships." She picked at her fingernails. "Is that an accurate description of you, Commander?"

T'Pol fought to keep the ice out of her tone but wasn't successful. "My husband is Vulcan, if that is what you're asking."

"It isn't, and I already knew that." Kamea took another sip of her tea, regarding T'Pol over the rim of the mug. "But I find it interesting that you used the term 'husband' and not 'mate'. Your husband is Vulcan. Your mate is not." Kamea must have seen the confusion in T'Pol's eyes, because she continued. "The thing about telepaths, Commander, is that we can sense connections. The bond between you and Commander Tucker is very strong." She drained the rest of her tea and placed her mug on the table. "It is the marriage bond, and not the kind of bond formed between Vulcans who have been intimate but are not bonded in the _kah-ka_."

How Kamea could possibly have known that, T'Pol had no idea. "You speak as though you know what you are talking about."

Kamea raised her blue eyes to meet T'Pol's steady brown gaze. "You may be older than I, _krei_, but there are some areas in which I have more experience." She ran her fingers through her hair. "The bond to which I refer would fade in time, provided that the two of you were not intimate again." She paused. "Although there are times when I can still feel Wat inside my head. It is not a pleasant feeling." She sighed. "But the bond you have with the commander…that's something permanent."

A familiar scent hit T'Pol's nose, and both she and Kamea turned toward the door at the same time – just as Trip walked into the mess hall. His eyes searched for a moment before resting on T'Pol's. He smiled and waved, then headed over to pick up a tray of food. T'Pol turned back to her companion and found her almost smiling.

"He doesn't know."

T'Pol knew that was referring to the bond. She shook her head. "I believe it would make our present situation that much more awkward."

"But he suspects something."

T'Pol glanced up, hoping that she managed to conceal her surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"People can be surprisingly open when they believe that no one is listening."

T'Pol narrowed her eyes. "You were eavesdropping?" She could hardly be mad at Kamea for that, though, as she herself had been caught doing so less than an hour ago.

Kamea shook her head. "Not intentionally. But you might want to remind him that Vulcans have a much keener sense of hearing." She raised an eyebrow. "You also might want to tell him what's going on. He has the right to know."

"No," T'Pol said, almost violently. "He can never know. He would reject me."

Kamea sighed and shook her head. "Vulcans never did give humans much credit."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "You are Vulcan."

"You see me as human," Kamea said, a statement that T'Pol could not deny, "because I am more emotional than a Vulcan." She nodded at the assembled crewmen, who were busy indulging in their evening meal. "They see me as Vulcan because I am Vulcan in appearance. The truth lies somewhere in between."

Trip appeared beside their table and dropped his tray of food, causing it to spatter. Both T'Pol and Kamea looked at him in disgust, and Kamea used her napkin to wipe the offending food particles from the tabletop.

"Am I interruptin'?" Trip asked. But he seated himself before either could respond, indicating that he did not care if he was interrupting a discussion on menstruation and childbirth – he intended to sit.

"Would it matter if you were?" T'Pol asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Trip grinned. "Nope."

"Then why did you ask?" Kamea asked.

"Common courtesy," Trip said.

"In that case," Kamea said, with more than a hint of distaste, "you may want to reconsider your method for placing your food on the table." She pointed to a stain on her shirt that had most likely been deposited by the commander's dinner. "Yougot sauce onmy shirt."

He shrugged and dove into his meal. "Sorry."

"It is my experience that people rarely place any meaning behind that word," T'Pol said, and Kamea glanced at her, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips.

Trip's eyes danced back and forth between the two women, and he let his fork fall to his plate with a clatter. "Since when are you two so buddy-buddy?" he asked. "The other day I coulda sworn y'all got into the Vulcan equivalent of an all-out argument, and now you're acting…well…like friendly acquaintances."

Kamea and T'Pol exchanged a look. Kamea leaned forward on her elbows, her hands clasped in front of her. "I believe that the first officer and I have reached an understanding."

"An understandin'."

"That is correct," T'Pol said, mimicking Kamea's position. "An understanding."

Trip chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess I oughta be glad you at least didn't define it for me."

Kamea gathered her tray and her empty mug and stood. She addressed Trip first. "Excuse me, but I am overdue for my daily appointment with Phlox." She then turned to T'Pol. "It was a pleasure to speak with you, Commander." She turned to walk away.

"Kamea," T'Pol said, and Kamea turned back to face her. "You are…" She paused, about to say "not Starfleet" but decided instead to say, "…family. You may call me T'Pol."

Kamea nodded shortly, and T'Pol thought she saw a smile. "Good night, T'Pol. Trip."

She turned on her heel and was gone.

T'Pol swiveled in her chair to find warm blue eyes gazing fondly at her. "What?"

Trip smiled and shook his head. "Nothin'."

"It will be agreeable to have another Vulcan aboard _Enterprise_," T'Pol said. "Even if she is a _rish-ha-vel_."

"Glad to hear it, T'Pol."

* * *

**And so ends Book 2 of the Kamea Chonicles. To be continued in Book 3: "'Ohana". As soon as I can crank that puppy out. I've already got it started, so don't you worry about that. Oh, and I promise that there will be an actual plot to that one.**

**A/N: _buk_ - fate**

**_k'hat'n'dlawa -_ one who is half of my heart and soul**

**_kah-ka - _the marriage bond**

**_krei - _cousin**

**_rish-ha-vel - _hybrid**


End file.
